


The Nature of Fear and Forgiveness

by fred21



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Action, Angels, Angst, Demons, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Romance, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-26
Updated: 2013-11-24
Packaged: 2017-12-13 00:55:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 29,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/818062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fred21/pseuds/fred21
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>S4: Everybody keeps secrets... even angels. Dean & Sam met up with a woman haunted by her past and as the truth about her slowly emerges secrets are revealed that will change everything they know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Mid October 2008**

**12.13 am.  
Virtue, Iowa**

" _With the lights out, it's less dangerous..."_

With the beat of the music filling her head, drowning out everything else around her as she washed, Jane worked her way through the pile of dirty dishes, her mind lost in the words of the lyrics. As a faint prickle of cold crept across the very lowest part of her back causing the soft downy hairs that lay there to rise up she went completely still, her eyes widening.

Her hand shook as she moved it. A slight tremble starting at the tips of her fingers and vibrating up her arm as she went to brush her hand dry against the surface of the apron wrapped around her waist. Turning the volume of her iPod down low, she listened intently, focusing her attention beyond the silence that wrapped around her. Hearing only the familiar hum of the old fridge nearby she took a slow and steadying breath. The calm from earlier still eluded her, replaced now with an uneasy fearfulness that was like an itch upon her skin. With another slow breath she reached up and tucked a wayward strand of blond hair that danced across her cheek behind her ear.

She stared out through the kitchen window at the darkness, pushing the tentacle of fear that crept deep within back to where it belonged. Determined not to let the fear get the better of her she went back to work, turning the hot water tap on. The moment her hand turned the tap the cold sensation returned, stronger than before, curling around her spine as it traveled upward, hard and sharp, like tiny fragments of broken glass piercing her skin.

She drew in a sudden gasp of breath, every nerve in her body feeling alive as her mind screamed out just one word.

Run.

Ripping out the plugs from her ears Jane gripped the edge of the counter, the white of her knuckles standing out underneath her pale skin as she took hurried breaths. Her heart was pounding so loudly from the fear that coursed through her body that for a moment she couldn't focus on anything else except the thud thud sound that echoed in her ears.

Taking a few more breaths, trying to breathe out slowly with each one in a desperate effort to calm herself she looked frantically towards the main diner, seeing the lights on, hearing nothing. Not even the sound of Amy's off-key voice singing along to the radio as she always did when she went about readying the diner for the next day. The complete absence of sound told Jane all that she needed to know.

Panic flooded her body as logic fled her brain and her heart raced further. She wanted to run. The urge to flee was so strong that it was almost suffocating in its intensity but something stopped her, something stronger than the fear, telling her she mustn't run, telling her that Amy needed her. Something terrible was happening and Amy was out there, out there alone.

Inch by inch she slid her hand across the cold stainless surface of the counter top until her fingers met the blunt end of a knife. Wrapping her hand around it she gripped it firmly, bringing it closer, readying herself for what was ahead. She took a step and then another and another, her footsteps quiet and controlled, containing no hesitation as instinct guided her, taking control of her body, ignoring the fear in her heart and the voice in her head that told her to run, run now.

"Amy?"

The name came out surprisingly confident as Jane took the final step into the diner. Color and light flashed across her vision as she took in her surroundings. Images forming like a series of disjointed photo stills.

The gleaming shine of the till, the gray of the counter top, fat droplets of red splattered across it.

Blink.

The black and white squares of the checkered lino floor.

Blink.

Crimson red so vivid and dark and rich, streaking out along its surface.

Blink.

The soles of Amy's sneakers, startlingly in their whiteness.

Blink.

Lightly tanned legs splayed out, one foot twisted just a little backwards. The black edge of Amy's skirt, the angle of it all wrong as it laid upon her thighs.

Blink.

Bright red again. The color of Amy's fitted t-shirt. And a darker red, seeping out and in to the cotton fabric and the skin underneath.

Blink.

Amy. Her face this time. Brown eyes, wide-eyed and staring straight at her, cold and empty. The pale pinkness of her face that seemed to fade to an unnatural grayish white pallor in front of Jane's eyes.

Blink.

Red yet again. So much red. In a shade so dark, so glistening and wet that it didn't seem real coming from Amy's now lifeless body.

The sound of screaming seemed to fill the room though no actual sound escaped Jane's lips and as she saw what had killed Amy the scream escalated inside her and then all was silent.

**SN*SN*SN**

1.23 am.

_"There are no such things as monsters."_

_"There are no such things as monsters."_

All around shiny surfaces bounced with light and reflections, illuminated by the faint glow of a single fluorescent light. Beyond, the rest of the diner was shrouded in darkness with random fragments of light snaking their way through the gaps in the blinds, streaking out across the surfaces. Light and dark came together to form shadows on the walls giving the diner an eerie creepiness. The calm stillness of the night only added to the feeling of something unnatural, the silence broken by the words that Jane spoke and the steady sound of running water cascading over the sides of the sink, hitting the floor, the water pooling and spreading outwards.

_"There are no such things as monsters."_

_"There are no such things as monsters."_

Backed into the farthest corner of the kitchen Jane sat on the cold, wet lino floor, oblivious to the water that was all around her or to the dampness seeping through her trousers, chilling the skin underneath as she rocked back and forth with her legs bent up, her hands clasped over her ears, repeating the phrase like some kind incantation.

"T _here are no such things as monsters."_

_"There are no such things as monsters."_

Jane focused all her attention on the words she was saying, desperately trying to shut everything else out as fear gripped her.

Monsters weren't real. None of this was real. If she could just close her eyes it would all be gone.

_"There are no such things as monsters."_

_"There are no such things as monsters."_

She wanted to believe in the words. Needed to believe them.

If she could just make them real, make them true, then everything would be all right.

_"There are no such things as monsters."_

_"There are no such things as monsters._

She repeated the words again and again, clinging to the hope of them even as a tiny part of herself kept whispering that she was wrong. That they were all wrong and that everything they had told her that couldn't possibly exist, did.

Monsters were real. Very, very real. And deep down she knew this. Knew this with complete and utter certainty. No matter how hard she wanted to deny it, no matter what anyone told her.

Monsters were real.

And that was why she was sitting here on the floor, rocking back and forth, her hands over her ears, saying words she wanted to believe in but knowing it was all a lie because it was the only way she knew to hide from the truth.

And if the truth was that she thought monsters did exist, that they were real, then maybe she really was crazy after all.

**SN*SN*SN**

Songs:

 _Smells Like Teen Spirit_ (performed by Nirvana)


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Virtue, Iowa.

A typical Midwestern town where life revolved around the farms that surrounded it, the weather and Monday Night Football. A quiet town where nothing much happened other than the usual parades and festivals and people minded their own business and knew everyone's else's. At the moment though that way of life had come to a standstill. Outside the town's only diner a crowd slowly gathered, whispering amongst themselves, wondering how something like this could happen in their town. Just an hour before they had all been going about their usual business when the sound of screaming had shattered the familiarity of the morning routine.

A body had been found.

Murdered.

Mutilated.

And as a gurney rolled out through the diner's front door silence fell among the onlookers as they took in the sight of the black body bag that laid upon on it. A few turned their heads away, averting their eyes, not wanting to see yet knowing that the image would fill their nightmares for many nights to come. Others found themselves riveted to the scene, unable to look away.

"Well that looks like our signal that something's wrong on the Hellmouth," said Dean as he sat in the driver's seat his arm resting along the edge of the open window.

Pulling his attention away from the crowd, his back leaning against the Impala's passenger door Sam was surprised and amused by his brother's words. "The Hellmouth? Seriously?"

"Gotta love a woman who knows how to kick ass."

"Yeah, and the fact that she's hot has nothing to do with it," countered Sam, pleased to see his brother in a good mood.

Going to the Oktoberfest had been a good thing after all, they had solved an old fashioned case and Dean had gotten the girl. Things felt a little more back on track to being normal, or at least as normal as it could be for them. Of course deep down Sam knew that they weren't, that things between them hadn't really been resolved, but for now it was nice to pretend.

Dean flicked a smirk. "It does help."

Returning his brother's grin Sam turned his gaze back to the diner. "So, dead body?"

"Sounds like our calling card."

"Mmm, what do you think? Demons? Vampires?"

The corner of Dean's mouth twitched in a half smile at the sight of two men in uniform coming out of the diner. "Aren't they always. Only way to find out for sure is to ask some questions."

**SN*SN*SN**

Heading towards the diner, Dean and Sam took in as much as they could, their eyes skimming over their surroundings, hunting for anything that seemed out of place. Details were important, something that years of hunting had both taught them. Overlooking something could be dangerous, not only for themselves but for others also. This time though nothing leapt out as being off and their focus shifted to the two men standing out in front of the diner.

The Sheriff looked liked a man use to the outdoors; tanned and wiry with windswept brown hair that seemed just a little too long for someone in his line of work. He didn't look like a man who belonged behind a desk. The Deputy though looked like he had just lost this morning's breakfast and was struggling to keep down whatever else he had left in his stomach going by the sickly pallor of his skin.

**SN*SN*SN**

Sheriff Jack Barrett had seen them even before they had gotten out of their car. The car alone had drawn his attention and had stayed on it and the two men seated within the moment he had stepped out into the cool fall morning. He knew everyone in this town, if not personally at least by sight and name. He knew that these two men were strangers, he also knew they weren't ordinary strangers. They were not thrill seekers coming to witness the gory scene. No these boys moved like professionals; they had an edge about them, a wariness that came from truly knowing what kind of terrible things existed in this world.

With a barely noticeable look of acknowledgement as they came closer, Barrett carried on talking to his Deputy, his voice low but firm. He would talk to them when he was ready and not a moment sooner; investigating Amy's murder was far more important.

He held back a sigh.

Seeing Amy like that had shaken him deeply, though no one would ever know from looking at him. Composure was the name of the game and he was a master at it, even in situations like this. He had seen his fair share of bodies but they were usually a result of natural causes or accidents. Murders on the other hand were rare in Virtue. In his twenty odd years as Sheriff he had come across only two. Today he had added his third. It was not a statistic he wanted increased.

As much as the two men tried to hide their impatience at being ignored it radiated from them in silent waves. Barrett let them wait a couple of minutes longer before he finally turned to them. "What can I do for you boys?"

Simultaneously reaching down to their back pockets, Dean and Sam pulled out their wallets, flicking them open.

"US Marshals. Ritchie Blackmore. This here's Phil Campbell." Dean gave a toss of his head in Sam's direction.

Glancing at their wallets Barrett couldn't help think that this was the last thing he needed, first a murder, now two Marshals. Putting his irritation aside at their announcement, he kept his face a mask of neutrality; a look that had served him well in his role as Sheriff. "Sheriff Barrett. Well, whatever it is you boys need right now it's gonna have to wait awhile. We've got a dead body on our hands, in case you haven't noticed."

Dean pocketed his wallet, not fazed by the trace of sarcasm in the Sheriff's voice. "Actually we might be able to help."

"Oh?" Barrett raised an eyebrow. He couldn't help but be just a little curious though he was skeptical that they could really provide any insight. Hunting and apprehending fugitives were Marshals thing, investigating murder cases didn't fall into their jurisdiction, at least not usually.

"We've got experience in cases like this."

Barrett looked at the taller one who had spoken this time, his expression once again stoic.

The tall one didn't seem perturbed by his stare, taking it all in his stride. "We've dealt with murders before. Brutal one's in fact. I think we can help."

"What my partner is trying to say is that we've seen some pretty sick shit in our time. We know about killers, all kinds of killers. There's pretty much nothing we haven't seen but if you're not interested…"

Barrett admired their bluntness; their confidence though was less than appealing. "Cocky sons of bitches aren't you."

He locked eyes with Dean who met his gaze with equal force and the two men remained as they were, neither one breaking eye contact as the seconds ticked by.

Barrett wanted them to know that this was his territory, that he was in charge. He wasn't stupid though; their offer was an intriguing one and deep down he could use the help, a set of eyes and instincts that were more objective than his own. He couldn't risk his feelings getting in the way of finding Amy's killer.

"Okay then, let's see what you make of this one." Barrett turned to his Deputy. "Dave, why don't you sit this one out. Go and make yourself useful and get Otis to give you a statement. Try and calm down Jenny while you're at it."

With the color slowly coming back to his face, Dave headed towards a large burly looking man and a distressed looking woman.

"And for God's sake try not to puke anymore near the crime scene," called out Barrett to his retreating back, frustration at how the day was playing out seeping through. With a quick look at the Marshals he turned and headed to the diner.

"First dead body?" asked Dean as they followed him.

"Not for me, but for him, yeah. I've seen some things in my day but never anything like this. Blood everywhere. She was... well, you'll see what I mean."

**SN*SN*SN**

Walking in the smell hit them first. Vomit. Fresh and rank, the remains of the Deputy's breakfast now part of the crime scene. As their nostrils quickly adjusted to the shock of it another smell became more noticeable; metallic, like rusted metal seeping through the air all around them. It was a smell that all three men recognized.

Blood.

The Sheriff had been right when he had said that it was everywhere. A slaughterhouse was the first thing that popped into Dean's mind. Blood was smeared across the floor as if something had been dragged across its surface. More blood was splattered about. Streaks of it along the counter, several handful of flecks scattered upon one of the booths. Even the walls had streaks and spots marring their pristine surface. Everywhere they looked it was there, a brilliant dark red, thick and sticky, the stench sharp. It was in stark contrast to the rest of the diner which looked as if it had been scrubbed clean.

Carefully avoiding the mess, Dean made his way over to the largest area of blood, crouching down.

From a distance Barrett observed them. "You don't look like Marshals."

"Yeah, we get that a lot," said Dean, bringing his hand up as he rubbed two fingers together, smearing the blood to take a sniff. No sign of sulfur and none near where the body had been found either which meant no demons; that was a good thing at least. Looking around he spied a long, thin trail of blood heading in the direction of the kitchen. Interesting.

Sam, who had been quietly checking out the rest of the room, came over seeing the same thing. "Was anyone else hurt?"

Barrett joined them, looking down at the path of red. "No. You think she managed to hurt her attacker?"

Sam and Dean looked around at all the blood, thinking the same thing. The murder had been quick and brutal, the victim bleeding out fast. It was doubtful that she would have had time to do anything, much less injure her attacker.

"It's possible," said Sam.

"No," said Dean, his voice echoing in time with Sam's.

The brothers glanced at each other in slight annoyance before Dean carried on towards the back, pushing the kitchen door open; Sam and Barrett following close behind.

Like it was in the front everything in the kitchen shone with cleanliness. It was neat and orderly with no sign of any of the carnage that was in the main part of the diner. Everything about it appeared normal except for one thing. There was water everywhere, the floor was covered with it, a shiny translucent mass that almost seemed alive as it swam across the black and white checkered surface.

Without hesitation Dean went over to the sink, his boots squelching in the water as he moved. Carefully avoiding the flow of water that was running down the front of the sink he turned off the tap. "Looks like someone left in a hurry."

"So the victim wasn't on her own…"

Barrett's voice was low as he cut Sam off. "Amy. Her name was Amy."

"Amy. Sorry."

Barrett's comment made Sam aware of how much he had changed over the years since Jessica's death. The thought was not a pleasing one. When had he stopped thinking of them as people? So many bodies over so many years. It was beginning to take its toll this life he led.

Barrett gave him a curt nod, hearing the sincerity in his voice. "That's okay."

"It would've been pretty fast. Killer went straight for a main artery going by the amount of blood loss."

As always Dean stuck to the facts. Which was handy at times but there was the odd occasion when a little sensitivity wouldn't go amiss. Tact was definitely not one of Dean's strengths.

"So who else was working at the diner last night?" asked Sam.

**SN*SN*SN**


	3. Chapter 3

Exiting the Sheriff's office the crisp, cool air was biting in its sharpness and Sam pulled his jacket a little tighter in an effort to keep the chill at bay as he walked towards the Impala. Opening the passenger door he slid his tall frame in with ease, feeling the warmth of the car envelop around him as he closed the door.

"Her name's Jane Smith."

"You're kiddin', right?" Dean paused as the expression on Sam's face told him otherwise. "Okay Sherlock, so what else did you find out?"

"Not much. She's twenty seven. Moved here just over a year ago. Works nights at the diner, doesn't go out much during the day. Keeps pretty much to herself."

"Vamp?"

"No, I don't think so. Vampires live in groups, work together. This girl lives alone. Doesn't seem to have any family, hardly any friends for that matter. The Sheriff had the feeling that she might have been running away from someone, like an abusive ex."

"Yeah, well she could have picked a better alias than Jane Smith.'

"Well alias or not, no-ones seen her since last night. I told the Sheriff we'd check out where she lives."

**SN*SN*SN**

With Sam on look out duty Dean made fast work on the lock of the front door to Jane Smith's apartment, unlocking it in seconds. Entering their eyes widened a little in surprise. The apartment was not what they had expected.

A row of arched windows ran along one wall while wooden floors gleamed with polish, the rich golden hue of the wood giving the place a sense of warmth. Tucked to one side was a small kitchen, all chrome and glass and through a door Dean spied a black and white tiled bathroom. The whole place was new and modern and... empty except for a lone piece of furniture sitting in the middle of the living room. Out of place, the double bed was neatly made up with crisp white cotton sheets and a faded duvet that had once been a brilliant shade of blue but was more greyish white than anything else. Spartan in the extreme, it was hard to believe that someone lived here.

"Well this isn't going to take long," said Dean.

Falling into a natural easy routine, the brothers went in separate directions; Sam checking for signs of sulfur and EMF while Dean scanned the rest of room, his eyes landing on a black hold-all bag tucked underneath the bed. Taking it out he unzipped it, tipping the bag upside down. A handful of items tumbled out; a pair of jeans, a jumper, a couple of t-shirts and some underwear. The clothing revealed almost nothing about the woman who owned them. All that Dean could surmise was that she had a thing for black and grey, going by what was on display. Giving the clothing a dismissive glance he felt around the bed for anything that might be tucked away, hidden from view.

"I'll check the bathroom."

With a nod at Sam, Dean went into the kitchen and worked his way through the kitchen cupboards, systematically pulling the doors opened as he carried on searching. Not surprisingly, after what little they had found so far, there wasn't much in them. Coffee, sugar, crackers and peanut butter. That was the sum total along with the barest of kitchen crockery and utensils that a person could get by with. All of it only confirmed the impression that the rest of the apartment had given. This was not a home and it made Dean wonder what kind of life Jane was running from.

Nothing good, he thought.

Catching sight of something in one of the bottom cupboards he crouched down for a better look.

"Find anything?"

At the sound of Sam's voice coming from behind him Dean pulled out four large empty bottles of bourbon, placing them on the counter top. "Not a lot, other than the fact that she might wanna consider a visit to Betty Ford. What about you?" Turning around Dea's gaze fell onto the dozen or so white pill bottles that now littered the center aisle. "Okay, so not just a drinking problem." He picked up one of the small white bottles, looking at it before placing it back down. "Christ, what is all this stuff?"

"Well it's not your average medicine cabinet of aspirin and anti-acid that's for sure. Most of this stuff is pretty heavy duty. Sleeping bills, sedatives, antidepressants and this… this, I'm fairly sure, is used to treat schizophrenia," said Sam, holding one of the bottles tightly in his hands.

"Great, that's all we need. Sybil." Dean glanced between the pills and the empty booze bottles. "You don't think…." He let the sentence trail off unfinished.

"What?"

Dean shook his head. "Nothing."

Exasperation flicked across Sam's face. "Dean."

"Okay, but you're not going to like it. What if we're looking at this all wrong? So far we've found zilch. No sulfur. No EMF. No hex bags. Both the diner and this place are clean. What if it wasn't something supernatural that killed that girl, what if it was something more… human, like a regular Joe… or Jane?"

"Dean, the girl was butchered."

"A room covered in blood tends to give that impression. I'm just saying maybe this Jane Smith slipped up on her meds, had one to many Jim Beams and flipped out."

"I don't know, I just don't buy it. Most mentally ill people aren't violent and those that are don't generally go around slaughtering their co-workers. Whatever did that to the waitress…"

The sound of his cell phone ringing interrupted his train of thought. "Hello? Sheriff Barrett. No nothing. The place hasn't been slept in." Listening Sam paced around the room. After a few minutes he pocketed his phone, turning to his brother. "That was the Sheriff. They've just gotten the preliminary autopsy report. According to the coroner there were claw marks on the body, like something had ripped her open with its bare hands."

**SN*SN*SN**

The motel room was like so many that they had been in over the years. A little tacky and old fashioned, as if no one had heard that the seventies were well and truly over. In the end the decor didn't really matter as long as the beds were okay and the shower hot, they were happy to rest anywhere. Sleeping in the Impala was fine - some of the time. Like when money was tight or when they were just too shattered with exhaustion to go to the effort of finding a motel. But as far as Dean was concerned nothing could beat the comfort of a bed you could stretch out on or a shower that rinsed away a day's worth of grime and blood. Right at this moment though his most basic need was for the cup of coffee that was in his hand.

"So, we've got one dead girl and one missing girl."

Sam looked up from his laptop, his cup of coffee sitting nearby along with the remains of his salad. "Looks that way."

"Why kill one girl, leave a bloody mess and take the other?"

"A snack for later?"

"Now there's a cheery thought." Dean paused thinking this over, hoping it wasn't true. One victim was bad enough, two just made things more complicated. "Any luck in figuring out what it is?"

"No."

Sam closed the lid of his laptop with a firm push of resignation. The past hour of surfing the internet had given them exactly squat in the the way of leads. Anymore searching would only waste time and time was one thing he was sure they didn't have. They needed to figure out what this thing was. Find it. Kill it. And all before anyone else was slaughtered. "It could be a skinwalker or a wendigo. The claw marks, the taking of the heart. It kinda fits but something about it doesn't feel right."

"Feel right? Since when did any of this ever feel right. We go by our gut and we hope for the best. Most of the time it works. So what's your gut telling you?"

Turning in his chair Sam rested his arm along the back of it as he faced his brother. "It's what you said earlier, it got me thinking."

Taking a seat on the edge of one of the beds Dean rested his elbows on his thighs as he wrapped a hand around his coffee, feeling the heat seep through. "And what exactly did I say earlier?"

"About us looking at it all wrong. Maybe Jane isn't a victim, maybe she's a witness."

"She saw the girl get slaughtered and ran away? Why not go to the cops?"

"Would you?" asked Sam giving his brother a pointed look, "According to the Sheriff she's spent the last three years being treated for schizophrenia and depression, two of those in a psychiatric hospital. Before that she lived on the streets for who knows how long until she was arrested for assaulting a police officer. There's no way this girl is going to go to the cops."

"Okay, I get your point. So how are we going to find this chick if she's on the run. With the lead she's got she could be half way out of the state by now."

"Actually I don't think we have to look that far."

**SN*SN*SN**

"Can't say I blame her for going on a bender."

Dean turned off the Impala's ignition, the brilliant neon blue of the lit up sign of the roadside bar standing out against the black of the night sky. The bar was on the edge of town, a derelict wooden building that looked like it had seen one too many bar fights. Out of sight down a dirt road, surrounded by trees and bushes, rustic was one word for it, though Dean could think of a lot more others that were far more suitable and none of them were complimentary. "You really think she's going to turn up here?"

"Other than the diner and her apartment this is the only other place she hanged around at on a regular basis. She's got no family to go to. Her only real friend was slaughtered right in front of her. Right now she's scared and alone and most likely not thinking straight, especially after what she saw. I'm guessing sooner or later she's going to come here."

**SN*SN*SN**

"Hi. US Marshals." Dean flicked his wallet open, flashing his ID at the bartender. "Wondering if you might be able to help us out?"

With an indifferent stare the bartender took his time in answering. "Maybe. What is you wanna know?"

Dean ignored his manner.

Bartenders had their uses, especially in a hunter's world. They saw everything and heard a lot more. The keeper of secrets was how most hunters viewed them. It made them a handy source of information. Unfortunately it also made them difficult to deal with. They weren't overly fond of the law either which meant that getting information out of them was twice as hard. The direct approached usually worked the best.

"We're looking for a woman. Jane Smith?"

"Yeah, I know who you mean," said the bartender, his voice hesitate, "You know you're the second person today to ask after her."

"Oh?"

"Yeah the Sheriff was in earlier, wanted to know if I'd seen her and to let him know if she turned up."

Turning his head away from the bar, Sam lowered his voice. "I told you I didn't think that the Sheriff was buying the coroner's suggestion that a wild animal had killed Amy."

"Yeah it looks that way," Dean kept own voice quiet then turned back to the bartender. "And? Have you seen her?"

"Not since she was in here a few days ago."

"What can you tell us about her?" asked Sam.

Unfazed by their questions the bartender picked up a freshly washed glass off the top of the bar and wiped it dry with a cloth. "Not a lot. She comes in about three or four times a week, always after midnight. Stays a couple of hours, sometimes longer. Drinks bourbon, neat. Doesn't say much. She usually sits over there." He flicked his head in the direction of a booth almost completely hidden in the shadows of the farthest corner of the bar.

"Thanks," said Dean as he and Sam moved away from the bar, "So what do you think?"

"I think we need to find her before the Sheriff does, because if he gets to her first he's most likely going to charge her with Amy's murder.

"You know it's still possible that she did it."

"Okay it's a possibility… a faint one. But I'm not convinced. Something tells me that she's out there, mostly likely terrified out of her skull and hiding from the creature that ripped Amy to shreds. We have to help her."

**SN*SN*SN**

"Two beers."

Dean placed a couple of notes on the counter, casting his eyes over the bar's customers as a George Thorogood song played in the background.

It was your typical roadside bar crowd. A few middle aged guys playing some pool, winding down from a hard day's work. Another group playing darts, one or two others talking and drinking beer. Two girls, sitting together, looking like they were barely the legal age to drink, casting sidelong glances at some guys sitting nearby.

One of the girls caught Deans glance and gave him a flirtatious smile as his eyes slid over her. A couple leaned against a wall, whispering words in each others ears and further along a much older guy dressed in a plaid shirt and a trucker's cap quietly nursed a beer as he sat at a booth in the far corner.

Everything seemed normal and Dean relaxed a little as he picked up the beers and headed to the table that Sam had claimed as theirs for the night. As the barmaid walked past him with a tray of empty glasses in her hands he gave her an appreciate look. Now she was his kind of chick, slim but curvy with her assets nicely on display. Dark blue jeans hugging her figure along with a black Harley Davidson tank top that fitted snugly over full rounded breasts and tousled dark brown hair that looked as if she had just rolled out of bed; a thought that definitely had him thinking of far more pleasant things than looking for some lunatic chick who may or may not be a killer.

Sitting down he flashed the barmaid a smile. A smile of immoral charm and wicked intent, the kind of smile that generally got him whatever he wanted, especially as far as women were concerned. Seeing her own appreciative glance and smile he knew that the night was definitely looking up.

"Whatever it is you're thinking of doing, it's going have to wait until we find Jane," said Sam at the exchange of looks between his brother and the barmaid.

Dean's smile got a little wider. "No harm in enjoying the view Sammy, especially when it looks like that." He paused as he swallowed a mouthful of beer. "You still think she's going to turn up?"

A small sigh escaped Sam's lips.. "Look I know you still think she might have killed Amy but I don't. And don't ask me why, it's just a feeling I've got. There's something else you haven't considered."

"And that would be?"

"If Jane didn't kill Amy then whatever killed her is still out there and probably looking for Jane also. If it finds her before we do… she's dead."

**SN*SN*SN**

Songs:

 _You Talk Too Much_ (performed by George Thorogood)


	4. Chapter 4

Sam breathed in the fresh night air as he left the bar, the lingering smell of cigarettes and alcohol still clinging to his clothes. Man, he really needed a shower. One that was preferably long and hot and strong enough to just about tear his skin off. Right now though he had far more important things to worry about. He had been so sure that Jane would come but here it was 3 am, the bar was closing and no sign of her. So far nothing about this case was working out. Jane was missing and whatever had killed Amy was still out there, waiting for the moment to kill again.

Reaching the car he looked towards the bar. Dean and the barmaid were illuminated by the bar's outside light, their body language clearly indicating that he was probably going to be spending what remained of the night in the cramped confines of the Impala; the chances of having a long hot shower disappearing fast. At least things seemed to working out well for his brother.

With his concentration elsewhere Sam placed the key in the door just as a hand came out from behind him, clamping across his mouth, causing his head to jerk back with a hard tug. Reacting swiftly, years of honed skill kicking in, Sam grabbed the assailant's wrist, hearing a quiet voice whisper _'Monster'_ in his ear as he did so. With a twist and a jab he spun around, his hand connecting with his attacker with a firm push sending them flying backwards to land on the ground in front of him, realization sinking in as his hand made contact.

Even in the shadowy darkness he could make out the woman who had attacked him. Her head was turned away, blond strands of hair resting across her face, obscuring it from view. Long legs, dressed in all in black. One bent outwards, the other pointing in a straight line in his direction. An arm flung out to one side, the other resting up close to her as she laid there, motionless. His surprise fading Sam stepped towards her.

Before he even had time to register what was happening Sam found himself staring up the night sky, the impact of his back hitting solid ground stunning him. Taking deep gulps of air as the shock and pain began to fade comprehension came; she had flipped him, quickly hooking her leg around his as she had laid there, pulling him down without him even seeing it coming.

His head clearing, the sound of his brother's voice cried out in the distance. "Sammy!"

Propping himself up on one elbow, pushing himself half upright Sam saw the figure of the woman running off in the distance. The silhouette shape of her becoming darker and darker as she blended into the night. "I'm okay."

Pausing just for a second, seeing that Sam really was okay Dean took off in the direction the woman had gone, the pounding of his boots against the ground echoing with each stride as he ran. The woman was fast but he was faster, narrowing the gap between them as he chased after her. A blur of trees and bushes, thick and dense, flashed passed him and then the ground underneath him changed from dirt to tarmac as his feet hit the road, hard and fast.

Running to the other side of the road he followed her through a rough dirt path cut through the trees before coming out on to a cemetery. Half way across a grassy section he managed to get a hand hold on her, his fingers brushing across her upper arm to grab it firmly.

Spinning around to face him the woman swung out with her free arm, hitting him hard on the mouth with a fist. At the same time her right foot came up to give him a swift kick on the shin.

"Shit!"

Dean loosened his grasp just enough for her to yank herself free. She managed to run just a few feet before he grabbed her again. This time, pulling her closer to his body, wrapping an arm around her waist, holding her tight as his other arm wrapped around also. As he did so he felt the icy coldness of her body as it pressed up hard against the front of his. The heat of his body radiated out through the layers of clothing he was wearing to meet with the chill of hers.

The woman struggled, twisting her body in all directions as she tried to get the man who was holding her fast in his arms to let her go. She stomped a foot down hard on to his but her sneakers were no match against the boots he was wearing. The fear inside her increased ten-fold and panic began to take over as he pulled her even tighter against his body, her feet lifting just a little off the ground as he did so. No longer thinking clearly she thrashed about, her whole body now struggled desperately against his as she twisted and turned, hammering down on his arm with her fists, doing anything she could to get free.

The second she felt his grip loosen she pulled away from him hard. As her body jerked forward she fell on to her hands and knees. She tried to scramble away but panic controlled her actions and her feet slipped on the dewy surface of the grass. Feeling a hand get a firm hold on her right ankle she twisted around, landing on her backside to kick out frantically with the leg that was now in a vice like grip.

Determined to stop the struggling woman Dean used his greater height and weight to his advantage and pinned her to the ground, his legs straddling her hips, his weight pressing firmly down on her as he sat on her. As her hands lashed out at him, trying with every last bit of strength she had left to get free, he managed to grab a wrist in each hand and pulled her hands away from him, pushing them to the ground.

All of a sudden Dean found himself staring down into dark pupils surrounded by a sea of gray, the color of which made him think of the sky on a rainy day but it wasn't the color of her eyes that made him pause, instead it was what he saw in them. Fear and pain and longing. It was the look of someone haunted. Haunted by the past, haunted by what the future would bring. It was a look that Dean recognized for he had seen it reflected in his own eyes.

They stared at each other, both lost in the moment, a connection flickering between them. The face that looked up at him was both soft and strong at the same time. Pale pink lips that were slightly parted as she breathed heavily, a stubborn set to the jaw, fair skin that was far too pale and a long thin scar that stood out against it. The scar started up by her hairline near the top of her ear and then went across her right cheek, all the while going downward in a jagged motion, missing the corner of her mouth by about an inch to disappear at the edge of her jaw.

Awareness sank in, hitting him like a bullet in slow motion and he felt the dampness of the dew seeping through the knees of his jeans as they pressed into the grass, the soft slim body that was underneath his, the heat that was being generated between them and finally the feel of fragile skin and bone that was being held tightly in each of his hands.

Pulled out of the moment he remembered where he was and was back in the here and now. Shaken a little he eased his grip on her wrists and let her go, lifting himself off her. Free the woman scurried backwards using her hands and behind to slide herself across the grass. Stopping a few feet away from him, she bent her knees up, wrapping her arms around them as she sat there, turning her head away so that the right side was hidden in shadow, focusing her eyes elsewhere as if she was searching for someone or something, in the dark.

Hearing the sound of heavy footsteps, Dean looked to his left to see that Sam had caught with them.

"You okay?"

"Yeah… I'm fine," said Dean, a little distracted by what had just happened.

Crouching down so that he was more at her level Sam lowered his voice, keeping it gentle in an effort not to startle her any further. "It's okay, we're not going to hurt you."

The look she gave him was so quick and brief that he couldn't be completely sure she had even looked his way. He tried again, knowing he needed to reach her, going with his gut instinct that told him who she was. "Jane?" She darted her eyes back at him in response, this time making brief eye contact and fear filled eyes locked onto his. He gave her a small smile. "I'm Sam, this is my brother Dean."

This time her eyes darted over at Dean, before she went back to staring out in the distance, her eyes searching.

Sam pulled himself upright and turned to look behind him. The silver glimmer of moonlight revealed nothing but oddly twisted shapes and shadows and row upon row of stone and marble headstones. If something was out there he couldn't see it. Jane though was obviously afraid of something. What he didn't know was what. Either way they needed to get her out of this cemetery and some place safe.

"Maybe she can't talk," said Dean.

"I can talk."

Her words caught them by surprise as did the soft, husky voice that came out, sultry like a shot of good whiskey, all rich and warm with a hint of fire underneath.

Ignoring their startled looks Jane continued staring past them. "It's still out there."

"What is?" asked Sam.

She wanted so much to say the words, to say them out loud, to tell them what was out there, but she knew it was no use. How could she expect them to believe her when she wasn't even sure she believed it herself, so instead she said nothing, keeping her silence.

At the uncertainty in her eyes Sam tried his best to reassure her, taking off his jacket as a faint tremble of shivering racked her body. "I know you're afraid but we won't let anything hurt you, I promise."

"Sam's right. We can protect you."

Jane knew they were trying to comfort her but a lifetime of trusting no one was a hard habit to break. Still giving up his jacket was an act of kindness and kindness was rare. Amy... Amy always said that she needed to trust people more and somehow these two men made her feel not safe exactly but a little less afraid and not being afraid was even rarer than knowing kindness. Standing up she hesitantly took the jacket Sam held out to her, slipping it on. Wrapped up in its warmth, she headed back in the direction of the bar, tucking a thick strand of hair behind an ear, speaking softly so that only Sam and Dean could hear her.

"No one can do that."

**SN*SN*SN**

Nearing the Impala Jane stopped and crouched down. The pale yellow glow of the outside light radiating from the bar gave her just enough light to see as her eyes scanned underneath the car. Satisfied that there was nothing hiding in the dark she stood back upright as Sam and Dean came along to stand on either side of her.

Remaining where she was she focused her gaze on the rear of the car.

"You need to check the trunk."

Sam glanced down at her for a second then looked over her head at Dean, the two of them sharing a silent bemused look before they moved towards the Impala. Unlocking the trunk Sam lifted the lid open.

Jane stared inside at the empty trunk then ran her hand along the rim as she caught sight of a small leather strap. With a tug she lifted up the fake bottom, revealing the contents hidden inside. At the stash of weapons and weird looking objects that were now on display a brief flicker of alarm went through her body. She reached out her hand, brushing her fingers lightly over the surface of a wooden cross. She had seen something like this before but the memory of it was too hazy. With slight hesitation she moved her fingers, the tips of them ghosting over the surface of more of the weapons, pausing for a second every now and again before she continued on.

Finally she pulled her hand away and half-turned to Sam, tilting her head to one side.

"It's not what you think," he said.

She stared hard at him, searching for the truth. There was no dishonesty in his manner and her gut told her that he meant her no harm. For now that would do. Dropping her gaze to the ground she took a step back, letting him close the trunk.

**SN*SN*SN**

"So what now?" asked Dean as they drove out of the parking lot, the image of Jane reflected back at him in the rear view mirror as she sat in the backseat. Her own gaze fixed on the passenger window that she was staring out of.

"Now? Now we go back to the motel and try to work out what it was that killed that waitress." At the stony look on his brother's face Sam knew that Dean was holding something back. ""You still don't think she did it. I mean look at her, she can barely stand let alone rip someone apart with her bare hands."

A small smirk tugged at the corner of Dean's mouth. "She didn't seem to have any trouble dropping you on your ass. Look I'm just saying we can't rule it out, not entirely."

"You don't really think she killed that girl?" Sam couldn't quite believe that Dean was still having doubts about the woman in the back.

Dean thought about it for a moment, remembering the haunted look that he had seen in the woman's eyes. "No," he said with certainty then paused. It was his job to be cautious, it was one of the many things that had helped to keep him and Sam alive all these years. "But I'm sure most people thought Lizzie Borden was a sweet innocent thing."

**SN*SN*SN**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

In the light of the motel room Dean studied Jane as she took in her surroundings, her movements containing a watchful caution as her eyes swept around the room. His gaze traveled upwards going past black sneakers and long black clad legs. At the mid point of her thighs sat the edge of Sam's jacket and the dark grey t-shirt that she wore underneath. She was slim, verging on the point of being almost too thin, though there were still some curves there he thought, remembering how she felt when she had struggled against him. The clothes certainly didn't do her any favors, too loose and baggy for her frame, not to mention the streaks and splatters of dried blood that stain the front of her t-shirt.

In different circumstances some might have said she was pretty maybe even beautiful, though it was hard to see it right now. Right now she was too pale and washed out; like someone who had been ill for a very long time; the dark circles under her eyes didn't help either. This was a woman on the edge, strung out and exhausted, as if the only thing that was keeping her going was the adrenalin that was pumping through her body, though even that was fading fast.

She turned her head slightly away from him, almost as if she had been aware of his gaze upon her. The sudden movement made the uneven strands of her hair drape over her face, hiding the scar from view. Realizing that she has done this on purpose Dean looked away. Not because of the scar; he wasn't that shallow. No the reason went deeper than that; she unsettled him though he couldn't explain why.

"Would you like something to eat?"

Sam knew as soon as the words were out of his mouth that the question was kind of pointless but the need to say something, anything, to reach the woman who stood before him had taken over. He had come across plenty of frightened and confused people during his years of hunting but this woman Jane was something of an enigma; frightened, almost terrified one minute, the next emitting a kind of aloof weariness like someone who knew that terrible things happened and that there was little she could do to stop it.

Jane didn't reply, her mind obviously focused elsewhere as she stood stiffly in the middle of the room, her slim frame swamped by the jacket Sam had given her, making her look even more lost.

"I'll go," said Dean, seeing the look that Sam shot his way that told him all he needed to know as he picked up his keys from the table and headed out.

With Dean gone Sam contemplated the different ways he could try to reach her, deciding that the simple approach might reach her the best. "Jane?"

This time she responded, her head turning in his direction, though she kept her eyes averted from his.

"Can I get you anything?"

She gave a small shake of her head, the silence settling around them once more as the seconds past and then a minute had gone by before she spoke, her voice quiet like before, "Amy's dead… isn't she?"

"Yes."

Hearing Sam's answer, simple and truthful, Jane let the word sink in before her legs gave out from underneath her and she crumpled to the floor, landing on her knees with her backside resting on her legs.

Rushing over Sam went down on one knee, reaching out to her, only to stop as she flinched away from him, her eyes widening in fear. Dropping his arm back down he stayed close. Gradually she relaxed, though her distress remained, her eyes glistening with the tears she was holding back.

"I killed her." Though quiet the words were raw with pain.

Sam made no comment, waiting for whatever would come next.

"It's my fault. I should have saved her. I tried but… there was so much blood… and there was..." She halted, suddenly overwhelmed by it all and clasped her hands over her ears, shaking her head from side to side as she tried to block out the memory of that night. "No. No. No. It's not real, it can't be real…" Her voice rose in agitation, her mind lost in an onslaught of pain and fear.

As her panic escalated as the memories of the murder came back Sam placed his hand on her shoulder, ignoring her earlier reaction. At his touch she tensed up, her body stiffening underneath the warmth of his fingers as she fell silent and still. Her unease was palatable, like a trapped animal waiting for something bad to happen but he held on, keeping his grip firmly in place.

"Jane. Jane it's okay. Nothing can hurt you here. Just stay with me. Focus on my voice and stay with me." Whether it was his touch or his words or a combination of the two, he didn't know for sure but whatever it was it seemed to have the desired effect. The tension in her body easing just a little as she opened her eyes. "It's going to be okay. It's not your fault. You did everything you could to save her."

"But it wasn't enough." The words came out like a whisper.

Guilt was a terrible thing, it could eat away at you until there was nothing left; Sam knew this just as he knew that Jane had to find a way to let it go. Right now she deserved the truth, even it if was painful. "No, it wasn't, but you didn't kill Amy, what you saw, that killed Amy, not you."

As she closed her eyes, trying to push back the tears that threatened to spill, Sam slipped his arms around her, pulling her close. She stiffed once again, her body going rigid at his embrace but he held onto her, whispering words of comfort. Slowly the tension in her body eased away and she sagged against him, exhaustion finally taking complete control, breaking down her defenses.

"It's okay. It's going to be okay." Sam whispered the words as he held her tight, stroking her hair, feeling the dampness of her tears against the bare skin of his neck, the feel of her becoming heavier and heavier as she slipped into sleep.

**SN*SN*SN**

Entering the room, a bag of food clasped in one hand, a six-pack of beer and two coffees in the other, Dead saw Sam's silent signal to be quiet and glanced over at the bed that was on the other side of the room, seeing the curled up form of the sleeping woman. He flicked his head in Jane's direction as he placed the bag of food on the table and sat down, lowering his voice a notch. "How's she doing?"

Sam looked up from his laptop, taking one of the coffees. "She'll be okay."

"She said anything?"

"Not much, but she saw what killed Amy."

Dean waited for Sam to elaborate further, giving a beat of a pause, then pushed just a little when Sam didn't respond. "And?"

"She tried to stop it."

"Ballsy." Impressed Dean gave Jane another look.

"Yeah, it was," agreed Sam, "Most people see a monster they run the other way, but not her. She went after it, tried to save her friend."

"Well she's got guts, I'll give her that. Doesn't mean she's not on the wrong side of crazy. You know going after a monster, that's not exactly what normal people do."

"We do."

"Yeah, but we're hunters. Her? She's a small town waitress with enough problems of her own without taking on monsters. Normal people know when to run."

Silence fell between the brothers as Sam drank his coffee and Dean his beer, both of them thinking about the woman who was now in their care.

"So… any more ideas about what we might be hunting?" asked Dean.

"No, but I think Bobby might be able to help."

"I guess it's worth a shot. No that we've got much to give him to go on. Girl One gets attacked, Girl Two channels her inner Buffy. Unfortunately Girl One still ends up with her heart ripped out and Girl Two is now lying comatose over there while we're sitting here trying to figure out this mess. So yeah ring Bobby and see if he has any luck because right now we've got jack."

"I already did. He'll be here in about 8 hours," replied Sam giving Dean a satisfied look as he finished his coffee.

**SN*SN*SN**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

_Cold.  
_

_So biting as it worked its way through every part of her body, chilling her bones with a deep aching pain.  
_

_Blinking, forcing herself to focus on something other than the freezing cold that threatened to overwhelm her, she saw white at her feet, pure and clean and bright and it took a few seconds for her to realize that she was staring down at snow. Slowly she looked up._

_The snow was all around, endless and consuming. The trees that surrounded her were covered with it, their branches bending down towards the ground with the weight._

_Deep within the recesses of her mind was a flicker of recognition. This place was familiar, though she could not say why. Along with the recognition came another feeling. An unease that told her that there was something very wrong with this place. Yet despite this she felt compelled to move forward, her body somehow knowing exactly where to head. With each step she took her unease increased but something deep within her pulled her further and further on.  
_

_Then she saw it. A spot of red, startlingly and unnatural against the whiteness of the ground that it laid upon. The fear that had been nagging at her leapt up and she became aware of nothing but the silence and the sensation of her heart beating in her chest._

_A few more steps and another splash of red upon the ground and then a sound._

_She whipped her head around, her eyes wide as she scanned the way she had just come. Fear now had her its grip, tightening around her so that every sense was heightened._

_That sound again._

_A little louder this time._

_Like something… snapping._

_Frightening though it was she clung to the thought that it just a branch breaking with the weight of snow upon it. Not wanting to admit that she knew that it was something much, much worse._

_Something that was just beyond her memory, lurking in the depths of her mind.  
_

_She took a stumbling step backwards, her breath coming in cold hurried gasps, the heat of it turning instantly into mist as it touched the freezing cold air._

_Just as she was about to turn and run she heard a voice._

_It was faint. Sounding almost like a whisper of wind and yet she knew that it was real, knew that it had said a name._

_Her name._

_She ran, going in the direction she thought the voice had come from. The fear still held her, kept whispering to her to turn back, fighting against the other part of herself that told her she had to find the voice, had to find the person it belonged to._

_All at once she realized that the spots of red were no more and she stopped to stare at the ground that was now streaked with blood. The sound of her heart roared in her ears, deafening out the silence. The freezing cold that had chilled her body was suddenly gone replaced by a terrifying numbness._

_Too late she knew that the fear had been right all long._

_Unable to do anything else she looked upwards, her gaze traveling over the blood soaked snow to the wooden pole that was imbedded into the ground, to the body that was tied to it, blood flowing down its broken and battered form. Upwards to the face of a man…_

The scream broke free of her mouth with a strangled cry and Jane found herself sitting upright, surrounded by thick, murky greyness as she gasped for breath. Breathing hard and fast the terror inside her held on, not yet willing to let go.

Asleep with his legs stretched out, his feet propped up on the end of bed Dean heard the sudden fearful gasps as the bed jolted under his feet and was instantly awake.

The black night of earlier had faded and the motel room was now bathed in grey as the rays of morning light made their way through the gap underneath the curtains. Sam's sleeping form lay stretched out on one bed while on the other bed, where Dean had been resting his feet, sat Jane, her eyes wide in terror as she took hurried breaths, trying desperately to get air into her lungs.

Knowing straight away that she had had a nightmare Dean quickly tossed his jacket aside and went to her. "Jane?"

Jane remained where she was, her breath coming out in a rush, her wide opened eyes fixed on some far away point.

Seeing that she was still in the grip of panic Dean reached out and touched her gently on the shoulder. The moment his fingers made contact Jane turned on him, pushing hard against him, using the full force of her body as she pinned one of his arms against the wall with her hand while her other arm pressed down hard across his throat, nearly choking him.

Suddenly the room was illuminated with light as Sam pulled the curtains apart, calling her name. "Jane!"

Finding himself staring into wild and terrified eyes Dean tried to bring her out of the panic, his voice coming out hoarse as it struggled against the pressure that was being applied to his throat. "Jane, its me, Dean. You _really_ need to let go now."

Blinking a few times, the terror beginning to fade as she remembered where she was, Jane loosened her grip on Dean's wrist, while the arm that had been pressed hard against his wind pipe gently eased its pressure.

With confusion now on her face, Dean grabbed each of her hands in his and gently pulled them away, talking to her as he did so. "Jane, it's okay. It's just a bad dream, you're safe now." His voice was stronger now that the pressure was gone and he held eye contact, watching as the panic eased off as her breathing began to return to normal, "You alright?"

She nodded back, her eyes moving from his to land on the hands that griped her own.

At her look Dean abruptly released her hands while Sam pulled her back, guiding her to the bed.

"That's it. Everything's okay. I've got you," said Sam, sitting down next to her. "You wanna tell us what that was about?"

"There was… something… something in the…" Jane blinked a few times, coming out of the daze, the memory of the dream fading along with the terror as her mind cleared. "I… I'm sorry… I... What happened?"

"You had a nightmare."

Jane took a moment to digest his answer. "Did I… did I hurt anyone?"

"No. We're okay." Sam looked over at Dean who was now half squatting against the wall, his hands resting on his thighs as he caught his breath. "Dean?"

"I'm good."

Standing upright Dean headed over to the fridge. Taking several gulps of water from a bottle as Sam joined him, the two of them talking quietly.

"What the _hell_ was that?" said Dean.

"A pretty bad nightmare by the looks of it."

"The screaming part kind of got that point across," said Dean, "That and the fact that she had her hand wrapped around my throat."

Sam tried his best to understand what it was about this woman that seemed to put Dean on edge. "She's scared Dean. Terrified out of her mind."

"Out of her mind is right." Dean paused for a second as he saw the look on Sam's face. "What?"

"You seem kind of… rattled," said Sam, finally settling on the word that seemed best to describe what he was sensing from his brother.

"Rattled?"

"Yeah. Ever since we took this case. Especially since we found Jane. It's like she makes you nervous or something."

"Nervous? Of her?" Dean glanced over to Jane, feeling Sam's eyes follow in the same direction. She had moved from the bed and was now sitting on the floor with her back pushed up hard against the corner of the room, her legs bent up as she leaned against the wall. "She's nuts. And so are you."

As Dean walked away Sam knew that he would get nothing from Dean for the time being. Getting anything out of Dean was like drawing blood; you had to be patient and firm and just a little gentle so as not to cause any pain. Yet there were times Sam wished his brother would just talk to him without him having to push and prod. For now though the matter was closed.

"Well whatever your problem is you're going have to deal with it on you own cause I'm heading over to the Sheriff's," said Sam taking some clean clothes out of his bag and heading towards the bathroom for a shower.

"You are not leaving me here… with her."

"Someone's gotta stay with her and after all you're not nervous about being here with her, are you?"

At the faintly smug look on Sam's face Dean knew he was cornered. If he didn't stay he would be admitting that he was rattled as Sam had said and that wasn't something he was prepared to do. "Fine. I'll stay, but you better bring me back some pie."

**SN*SN*SN**

"Sheriff," greeted Sam as he walked into the Sheriff's office.

"Marshal." Barrett gave Sam a curtsey glance as he finished pouring a cup of strong black coffee and torn off a fax, heading towards his office.

Knowing instinctively that Barrett expected him to follow Sam did so, his long legs easily catching up with him as the two of them fell into conversation.

"So no joy at The Shack last night I hear," said Barrett.

"The Shack?"

"It's what the locals call the bar you went to last night," said Barrett as they entered the office.

"Sounds like you already know it was a bust." At the sound of the door behind him closing Sam glanced to his right. The Deputy from yesterday had followed them in and was now leaning against the wall.

Barrett tossed the fax he was holding into a tray. "Small town. People talk. You should know that."

"Yeah, I do." He paused as both he and Barrett look a seat. "So any more leads on who or what killed Amy?"

Barrett stretched out his legs, his manner relaxing as he drank his coffee. "There is no what only a who."

"The coroner seemed to think a wild animal killed her."

"Yeah well, my gut tells me otherwise and I'll take my gut over a coroner's report any day."

"We all know who killed Amy."

Sam had almost forgotten the Deputy was there until he spoke and looked over at him again. Long gone was the pale sickly hue that had been on his face the day before and Sam quickly changed his initial assessment of the man; this was not a man who was as naïve and gullible as he had first appeared. With color back in his face and the shock of the brutal murder wearing off he now seemed calm and steady, his voice carrying conviction and an edge of steel in it

Sam turned his attention back to Barrett. "You think that this other girl, Jane Smith, did this?"

"I'm not saying she did but I'm also not saying that she didn't. Until I find proof that she didn't kill Amy or wasn't involved in any way, she's a suspect. And right now she's the only one we've got."

"She killed Amy." The edge of steel in the Deputy's voice was stronger and a little deadlier. "I know she killed Amy and she's gonna pay for what she did."

"Dave. Why don't you go and check that everything from the crime scene been collected and tagged," interrupted Barrett, cutting the Deputy off with a look that said far more.

The Deputy held Barrett's gaze then left, his face rigid with suppressed anger as he shut the door behind him with a loud bang.

If Barrett was disturbed by his Deputy's reaction he didn't show it and calmly carried on. "You'll have to excuse Dave. He had a soft spot for Amy, a bit like most of the town."

"What was she like?" asked Sam, curious about woman who seemed to inspire such loyalty and deep feeling.

"Amy?"

Barrett paused, trying to decide what words best described the young woman he had known. "Bright. Not school bright but people bright. She had a knack of making friends, connecting to people, getting them to open up even when they didn't really want to. Warm, friendly..."

"How friendly?"

"If you asking if she slept around then the answers no. Amy might have flirted a little but that's all she did," said Barrett, getting out of his chair and picking up a brown manila folder from off the top of the filing cabinet.

Sam sensed the Sheriff's change of mood but wasn't going to let that stop him from asking more questions. "So, no disgruntled ex boyfriends? No one who was the jealous type?

"No."

The Sheriff tossed Sam the manila folder. "That's Amy. Pretty, popular, not a mean bone in her body. Everyone liked her, so for someone to do _that_ to her, well there's a lot of upset and angry people in this town and they all want to see her killer get caught."

As the Sheriff talked Sam opened up the folder and looked at the first photo on display. It was a newspaper clipping showing Amy in a bathing suit, a sash across her shoulder as she sat on a bale of hay with a small tiara on her head, beaming a joyous smile. Underneath this was a series of crime scene photos, several of them showing Amy, the carnage of the murder appearing even more startlingly in the vivid color images. Looking between the before and after photos Sam looked up at Barrett. "You really think that Jane could have done this?"

Barrett didn't reply as he debated with himself as to what and how much to tell the young Marshal. His gut told him that despite the Marshals youth that here was a man who had experienced some of the worst that life could offer. He reminded him of men who had come back from war. Men who had seen and done terrible things in the name of their country, who had had a little bit of their soul chipped away with each and every deed. The Marshal had the same look; Sam, though young in body, was old in spirit. "Come with me."

Leaving his office Barrett refilled his coffee and prepared a second cup. "It's not the best coffee there is but it's hot and strong and sweet if you like it that way," he said putting three large spoonfuls of sugar into each of the cups and handing one to Sam.

"Umm… thanks," replied Sam clasping the mug in his hand and taking a tentative sip. Unused to sugar in his coffee, the taste hit his senses immediately, though he managed to quell his distaste at the sugary sweetness.

Following him out of the main doors the two men fell into an easy rhythm as they walked, the Sheriff seemingly oblivious to the crisp cold air.

"I've done this job for more than twenty years and the one thing I've learned is that anything is possible. It's possible that Jane, a girl who once gave a police officer a broken nose and spent two years in a psych ward, went to work one night and brutally killed the one friend she had in this whole town."

"But you don't think so?" Sam's instinct told him that Barrett had more to say on the matter,

"I'll tell you what I think. I think that something terrible happened to Jane or whatever her name really is. The same something terrible that sliced her face open and took half her sense and most of her memory with it. You know what someone does when something like that happens to them? They run. They run so fast they don't look back they don't even look forward. The only thing that's driving them is fear and instinct, the instinct to survive. That's what Jane's been doing, surviving. Only thing is whoever made her that afraid is now here. In this town."

As Barrett said the last few words he looked Sam in the eyes with an unwavering gaze, letting the words have their impact.

Sam held Barrett's gaze, impressed with what the man had come up with so far. Still there was one unanswered question. "Why kill Amy?"

"Survival? A convenience? A message maybe? Who knows what's going on in this killer's mind. But I don't think she was the target. No I think he, and I'm pretty sure he's a he, wants Jane. Most likely to finish what he started. She's pissed him off and he's not going to stop until she's dead." Barrett paused again, drinking his coffee, thinking things over, deciding on whether to reveal his hand in full. "Of course, right now she could be half way out of the state. Then again she could be laying low somewhere, in an empty house… a motel room… She might even have someone helping her," he said, giving Sam another steady look . "How am I doing so far?"

Sam's expression was just as neutral. "Not bad." He paused for a second. "What would you suggest we do now?"

Barrett looked away, knowing that the two of them had come to an understanding. "There's still a few people to question. There's that doctor that Jane was seeing…"

"You haven't talked to him yet?"

"No. Are you offering?"

**SN*SN*SN**

 


	7. Chapter 7

Back in the chair, his legs once again stretched out and propped up on the bed, Dean watched Jane through hooded eyes as she drifted to sleep, her body half curled up in an awkward angle in the corner as she leaned against the walls for support, Sam's jacket draped over her hunched up form. The tension slowly left her body though remains of it lingered; even in sleep she was not truly relaxed. He wondered what it was that haunted her. Whatever it was it didn't just haunt her dreams. He had a feeling it haunted her waking moments also.

He knew what that was like and because he could relate to that he felt a glimmer of a connection to her and it unsettled him a little to feel something like that for someone like her. She was so damaged, so broken in fact. Was that what was in store for him? Being drunk, drugged up and his sanity half gone? He hoped not. And yet that was a path he could end up going down, just like Jane had.

That's what Hell did to a man, it made you want to forget, made you want to not feel. Only thing was he did.

He could run from it, hide from it, bury it so deep he could pretend that everything was okay but none of that could ever make it completely go away. And Jane? What was it that had done that to her? What was it that made her want to forget? Not the thing that had killed Amy, he was certain of that. No, what haunted her was something much worse, something that had her locked in her own private Hell.

The sound of his cell phone ringing pulled him out of thoughts and his hand was on it before the first few bars of Smoke on the Water had barely begun. Sam's name lit across the screen and he slid it open.

"You better be ringing to tell me you're on your way back with pie." Not wanting to wake the sleeping woman, Dean kept his voice low, the sound of it coming out a little gruff as the tiredness crept it.

On the other end of the phone Sam smiled, use as he was to brother's grumpiness when he was bored, even more so when you threw lack of sleep into the mix. Patience was not something that came easily to Dean. "Sorry to disappoint but right now I'm on my way to see a Doctor Lang."

Dean rubbed his thumb and index finger across the bridge of his nose a couple of times in an effort to force the tiredness back, trying to focus his mind on what Sam was saying. "And you're seeing him because…?"

"Because he's been treating Jane for the past two and half years."

He slid his hand down over his face. "And that's useful to us how?"

At the faint tone of disinterest in Dean's voice Sam chose to ignore it. "I'm hoping he might have some insight into what it is Jane's afraid of."

Getting up out of the chair Dean headed towards the fridge taking a bottle of water out. "And why's that?"

"It's something the Sheriff said."

Dean paused with the bottle hovering near his mouth. "Oh?"

At the spark of interest in his brother's voice, Sam smiled. "Yeah, he seems to think that Amy wasn't the intended target and I'm beginning to think he might be right. What if Jane's been running from something all this time?"

Dean took a swig from the bottle before he spoke again. "You mean like a demon or something?"

"Yeah."

"It's a possibility. But why would something be hunting her?"

"That's what I'm hoping to find out. Just sit tight and keep an eye on her. Make sure she stays safe because if we're right she's in a hell of lot more trouble than we first realized."

**SN*SN*SN**

Sliding his phone shut Dean let the conversation he just had sink in.

"Was that Sam?"

At the sound of Jane's voice, quiet and tentative Dean slipped his phone into his back jean pocket and turned around to face her.

Without Sam's jacket she seemed frail and vulnerable. Her hair in a messy disarray, the uneven blond strands haphazardly sticking out, her slim arms bare, the tell tale pattern of tiny goosebumps visible on them, the dried blood splatters that had soaked through her t-shirt standing out even more so in the daylight. And then there was _that_ scar. Somehow in the daylight it seemed more brutal, reminding one of the violence that must have been involved to cause it.

In his brief hesitation before he answered her query Dean sensed the air of caution and nervousness that surrounded her. "Yeah. He's gonna be awhile."

"Oh…" Her gaze shifted then, breaking the brief moment of eye contact to stare downward, the movement only increasing the awkwardness that was between them.

Seeing her like this Dean found it hard to reconcile this woman with the woman from earlier. At the cemetery she had been feisty, fighting him off with everything she had, even showing some skill in the process though exhaustion and panic had gotten the better of her in the end. And just a little over an hour ago she had him pinned to the wall, showing a wild ruthlessness that had made him think twice about taking her on. Now though she was like some beaten down thing who had not an ounce of fight left.

He was use to all kinds of women. Hell he liked women, he liked them a lot and on the whole he was good at dealing with them; flirting got him pretty far - most of the time, and when that didn't work he could always put his 'game face' on. The one that said I'm in charge, I know what I'm doing, trust me.

Right now though he wished that Sam was here. He'd know what to say to her, the right words to use.

He on the other hand, had no idea what to say. Vulnerable people only reminded him of how much was at stake, how much there was to lose if he got it wrong, so instead he said the first thing that leaped into his head. "You hungry?"

Jane shook her head no in reply.

The sigh escaped without Dean realizing it and hearing it he knew that his frustration with the whole situation was beginning to show. Recognizing this he decided it was time to be derisive and take control. "Yeah, well I am," he said, going over to a duffel bag on the floor. Picking it up he placed it on the dining table, quickly searching through it. Finding what he wanted he placed the bag of salt on the table.

As Dean scattered salt along the windowsills he could feel Jane's eyes upon him as he worked. He sensed her curiosity and from the corner of his eye watched as she went over to one of the windows, gently touching the line of salt with her fingertips.

"It's to stop monsters," she said as he sprinkled a thick row of salt in front of the doorway.

Almost finished with the preparations Dean looked up from his bent over position, a tinge of surprise on his face at the confidence he heard in her voice, like she knew that what she had just said was an indisputable fact.

"Yeah… it is."

He paused in his administrations, wondering just how much she really knew of the world that lived hidden all around them.

"What do you know about monsters?"

Staring down at the salt line on the windowsill, fragments of memories flashed through Jane's mind. Salt lines and black smoke and creatures that shouldn't exist but did.

She pulled her gaze away, this time staring out of the window, closing her eyes as she pushed the memories away. "They do bad things," she eventually said.

Dean gave a half amused snort at her understatement. "Yeah, that's one way of looking at it."

Finished he placed the salt back in the duffel bag, giving Jane a thoughtful look. How was it that she could make him feel protective and wary at the same time. He knew he should question her further, push her a little more for answers; it made sense to do so but the idea of doing that didn't feel right. He knew, perhaps better than some, that there were some things you couldn't talk about and as much as he wanted to know what it was she was hiding he was reluctant to make an issue out of it. That air of fragility, of vulnerability made him realize that she could snap and fall and break into a million little pieces at any moment. He was not going to be the one who finally did that to her.

"Look there's a convenience store just down the road. I'm going to go and get us some breakfast. The salt should keep most things out. If anyone knocks on the door don't answer it. Okay?"

Jane turned away from the window, giving him a nod.

"Good. I'll be back in about 15 minutes." Dean paused as he picked up the room key, another thought occurring to him. Going through his duffel bag again he pulled out a clean shirt and held it out to her. "You might wanna change into something that's a little less 'Look at me I'm a raging serial killer'."

**SN*SN*SN**

Alone, Jane stood in the motel room feeling the soft fabric of Dean's shirt in her hand.

For a moment she didn't know what to do. Her world was changing and there was nothing familiar left for her to hold on to. It was so strange being here, spending this much time with people, especially with these two men and yet now that they were both gone it felt odder still, like something was missing.

Sam and Dean. They were so different to each other and yet oddly so similar. It was easy to see that they were brothers. It was there in their body language, in the things they said and in the things they didn't. She could tell that they were concerned and afraid for her and of her; she was a mystery to them and that bothered them. She wanted to tell them that it bothered her also but the words don't come easily.

She has spent so much of her life hiding, keeping herself distance from others that the art of socializing has been forgotten, that's if she ever had it to begin with. She didn't know. There was this life and the life before, both interlinked with the unknown and there was a lot that was unknown.

Before is one big unknown, a collection of fragments, a mixture of memories and feelings.

All that she knows for sure is in that life there was cold and fear and pain.

She has not thought of it in a very long time and she had no wish to do so now. Those missing parts of her life were gone. There were things one could choose to remember and there were things one could choose to forget; she knew what choice she preferred.

Heading into the bathroom she avoided looking in to the mirror and instead pulled a towel off one of the rails and draped it over, covering it up, all the while keeping her eyes averted from the mirror's reflected surface. She has never looked into a mirror, never seen her face and though this might seem strange to others to her it was nothing. She knew that the scar was there, knew what it represented and that was enough. The scar was a reminder, a warning and Jane had perfected the art of avoiding it; she didn't need the reminder that told her never to trust anyone.

Satisfied that the mirror was covered she relaxed and began to strip off, starting with her sneakers and working her way up. Finally free of all her clothing she turned the water on, waiting for it to run hot, the steam quickly filling the room as the water ran from the shower head. Climbing in she flinched as the hot water touched her skin, the color of it quickly changing to a warm pink at the contact. As she scrubbed herself vigorously with soap the pink color of her skin intensified as the heat of the water seeped further through.

She moved up to her hair and scrubbed at it with the same intensity as if the very action could keep the feelings from overwhelming her. Rinsing her hair she held her hands over her face, her fingertips resting firmly against her eyelids as she tried to gather her thoughts, concentrating on the rhythmic sound of the water as it ran down over her head, using its tempo to calm herself. Holding on to what composure she could muster she stepped out of the shower and quickly dried herself off.

Dressed she reached down for her blood splattered t-shirt, her hand trembling as a flash of memory came unbidden.

A memory of snow and blood and flesh...

She stood back up again, giving her hand a shake, squeezing it open and closed a few times, waiting for the shiver of fear to pass. Taking a deep breath she bent back down, this time clasping the t-shirt firmly in her hand. For the next couple of minutes she thoroughly washed the shirt in the sink, scrubbing at it with soap and water, trying to get the blood out.

She had forgotten what the nightmares were like, how they left her with a sense of dread. The pills she had taken all these years had managed to keep them at bay most of the time but it had been more than 36 hours since she had taken any of her medication and it was now all rushing back. Yet with the nightmares and feeling of dread was a sense of certainty.

She knew things.

And though she knew she should be afraid of what this meant she wasn't. Nor was she afraid of Sam and Dean or of the fact that monsters exist. That she thinks she can cope with.

No what she was afraid of was something else, something that had been with her from the beginning of this life, from the moment she had opened her eyes and found she didn't know her name much less anything else.

She feared the nightmares, the flashes of memory that only reminded her of the unknown, especially the unknown parts of herself. Who was she, what was she capable of it, who was the man who haunted her dreams. There were so many questions and yet she was afraid of the answers; perhaps it was better not to know.

**SN*SN*SN**

Placing the food and drink on the dining table Dean glanced over at Jane who was sitting on the edge of the bed, her damp hair swept back off her face revealing another smaller scar on her forehead, his long sleeved grey t-shirt now covering her body along with her cargo pants. Pulling out a bacon and egg biscuit he handed it to her.

"You need to eat something."

Her hand trembled as she reached for it and their eyes briefly met, both of them knew what the tremble meant but were unwilling to talk about it. The tremble only made Dean wonder again what it was that had driven her so close to the edge.

Unpacking the rest of the food Dean took one of the coffee's from the cardboard tray, taking a drink as he sat down. With his elbows resting on his thighs he started eating his own biscuit as they ate and drank in silence.

"You think I'm crazy."

Dean looked at her, his hands wrapped around the Styrofoam coffee cup, unsure of how to answer her.

At his silence Jane carried on, calm acceptance on her face. "It's okay everyone else thinks that too."

"Yeah, well don't believe everything everyone tells you," said Dean, "Half the people I know are a little crazy and the other half just pretend they're not. When you live in the world that we do, normal, sane rules don't apply."

Jane stared ahead, lost in thought before she spoke again. "They said monsters didn't exist. That it was all in my head." She paused again, letting the silence filter in for a moment then looked at Dean. "But they were wrong."

At her firm words and the haunted look in her eyes Dean felt, for the first time since he had came back from Hell, that here was someone who could understand the demons that haunted him, perhaps in a way that no one else could and in that moment he smiled a barely-there-smile, wanting her to know that she wasn't alone with the nightmares and pain that haunted her. "Yeah, they were."

**SN*SN*SN**


	8. Chapter 8

As the front door of the townhouse opened Sam gave the man who stood there a questioning look, seeing the empty wine glass that he held cupped in his hand. "Doctor Lang?"

"If I answer no to that question will that make you go away?"

The voice that spoke was cultured and well spoken though an irritated note could be heard in its underlying tone. The voice seemed to fit the man, though his appearance was an unlikely one for a doctor, dressed as he was in a pair of faded jeans and a white shirt that hanged on his frame unbuttoned and untucked. With his feet bare he gave the impression that he had just gotten out of bed following a rough night. A fact that was enhanced not only by the several days growth of stubble on his face but also by the bored and disinterested expression that he worn at the appearance of his unwanted visitor.

Use as he was to dealing with people sporting hang overs as well as having experienced a few of his own, Sam flashed his badge with practiced ease, his manner direct and in control. "US Marshal Phil Campbell. I need to talk to you about Jane Smith."

"I see." Doctor Lang paused as if he was thinking through his next words. "Well you better come in then."

Walking inside the apartment Sam cast his eyes quickly around, a habit that was ingrained in him as much as breathing was for other people.

 _A hunter always checks his surroundings no matter what the situation_.

That refrain had been drilled into him from the moment he had learnt the truth about his family and it was a lesson he had learned well.

His eyes glimmered over furnishings that spoke of money and taste; rich jewel colored Persian rugs on the floor, artifacts from Africa and China displayed to their best effect upon glossy and darkened mahogany, the smell of beeswax polish and sandalwood lingering in the air. All the while Sam never lost sight of the doctor as he walked over to a long wooden side table

Picking up a bottle of expensive looking red wine Doctor Lang turned his head towards Sam gesturing with the bottle that was in his hand. "Wine?" At the shake of Sam's head Doctor Lang smiled. "No? You don't mind if I do?" he said, pouring wine into his glass as if Sam's answer didn't matter one way or other.

"No, go right ahead." Sam glanced around the room again, his gaze settling once more on the doctor. "What can you tell me about Jane?"

"Amnesia girl? Well she's nuts of course." At Sam's slightly surprised look he looked amused. "Sorry, you expected me to say something to the contrary?" he said, his voice containing no hint of apology in it.

Sam wondered if he was deliberately being unhelpful and condescending or if he really couldn't care less that a US Marshal was asking questions about one of his patients. "Actually, yes."

"Marshal." Pausing Doctor Lang raised his wine glass up to take a mouthful, a trace of amusement still on his face. "That is your title isn't it?"

There it was again. That hint of belligerence that Sam caught in his voice earlier as if Sam's presence was nothing more than a bothersome nuisance.

Not waiting for an answer Doctor Lang began to stroll around the room, drinking as he talked.

"None of the people I work with are what you would call normal. My work puts me in contact with people who you might say are just a tad crazy or at the very least delusional. Jane, for example. Lovely girl by the way. Lives in a world where monsters exist. Now you and I both know that that is as far-fetched as believing that... angels walk amongst us. But to Jane all the stories that most people look upon as unbelievable are very real to her. Of course believing in something is one thing, but talking about it, telling the world that vampires and demons exist... well that is something quite different.

Finished he gave Sam a direct look.

"So it's okay to believe in something but not okay to talk about it?"

Doctor Lang gave another slightly smug smile, the moment of seriousness gone from his face in an instant. "People hear what they want to hear. Tell them that Father Christmas or the Easter Bunny exist and they'll probably go along with it, but tell them that every monster that they've been brought up to be afraid of exists. Well you fill in the blanks." He paused for a moment. "You know this wine is _really_ very good. Are you sure you don't want a glass?"

Sam ignored the constant shifting in the doctor's attitude, deciding that the man really was just an obnoxious and smug prig. "I'm sure. So if Jane's 'nuts' as you say, what caused it? Something must have triggered it."

"You're right of course. There's always a trigger. Then again there is the school of thought that everything is preordained and that no matter how hard you try you can't escape destiny. Was it Jane's destiny to end up the way she has? Maybe, maybe not. What I will say is that for Jane the triggered involved a great deal of violence. The kind of violence you can only begin to imagine. She got in the way of the wrong sort of person. And as we all know that sort of thing never ends well. That scar on her face wasn't put there by accident."

Sam held back his shock. He had already had begun to suspect that this was the case though hearing it spoken out loud confirming his suspicions was quite different to merely having the thought in the back of his mind. "You mean someone did that to her on purpose?"

"Indeed they did."

"Do you know who?"

The doctor shrugged his shoulders. "She never said and I never asked. There are some things you don't question a patient about. Especially one in such a fragile state as Jane. Push her too hard and you'd never know her reaction."

Sam had to admit to himself that he could vouch for that, having seen her bail Dean to the wall of their motel room first hand. "Is she violent?"

"If you mean is she capable of violence? Then the answer would be yes. Would she intentionally hurt someone? Eh... probably. I'm guessing though you're talking about something quite specific."

"A woman Jane was friend's with was killed. Someone ripped out her heart."

As the doctor refilled his glass Sam waited to see if his last words would have any effect on the man.

"Ah... the penny drops. And you're wondering if Jane did it?"

Frustrated Sam kept his reply short. "Yes."

"I see. Well then no she didn't."

This time Sam's frustration at Doctor Lang's snarky attitude slipped from his control. "Just like that? You say she capable of violence but that she wouldn't kill someone?"

"I never said that. Jane is more than capable of killing someone. But you asked if she killed this woman and I'm saying that she didn't."

"You sound very sure."

"Oh but I am. But my certainty isn't into play here. Yours on the other hand is." Doctor Lang placed his wine glass down, his face now completely serious as he looked at Sam intently, the directness of his gaze demanding Sam's attention. "So the question is do you think she killed this woman?"

**SN*SN*SN**

"Someone cut up her face on purpose?"

Unlike Sam Dean couldn't quite keep the disbelief from showing on his face

"Sounds that way," said Sam giving a quick glance over at Jane who was sitting on the edge of one of the beds, her concentration directed at the deck of cards that was laid out upon its surface as she played a game of patience.

"Jesus." Dean cursed under his breath, the word laced with shock and sympathy as it came out with quiet force. "Well that explains a lot."

Sam could only agree with Dean. It did explain a lot just not everything and it was the everything that they needed to know because without it they were just fumbling around blind without a clue about what they were going to run into. And Sam was pretty sure, make that _certain_ , that they were going to run into it one way or another.

"Yeah, it does. Whatever it is that's hunting her it's not interested in killing her. At least not yet. It's enjoying this. It wants to torment her, drive her to the edge before it goes in for the kill."

A sigh escaped Dean's lips.

The sigh itself wasn't unusual, people did sigh after all, but it was the weariness, the sheer exhaustion that Sam detected in its whispered breath that reminded him of all that was wrong.

It was wrong that Dean had died and gone to Hell.

It was wrong that he had been left on his own and that the only person that had helped him through it, the only one who had understood him, had been Ruby.

And it was wrong that since coming back from the dead Dean wasn't the same. Hell had taken away a part of him. And Sam hated that.

Hated that Hell had done that to him.

Hated Dean for letting Hell take a piece of him, a piece of him that it had no right to.

But most of all what was wrong was how things were between them. How neither one could open up to the other, how they kept secrets from each other, how they pretended that everything was okay when really they both knew that it wasn't.

_Pretending everything was fine seemed to be a Winchester specialty._

"I've heard some sick stuff before but this is pretty twisted, even for us. We've got Sybil over there whose got something even nuttier than her playing cat and mouse, and she's the mouse."

And just like that everything was back to the pretense of normal and fine as Dean drew on whatever inner reserves he had and Sam pushed his feelings back and said nothing about his concerns focusing his attention back on their present situation as he spoke.

"And the only thing between it and her is us."

"Yeah and you know what that means?" replied Dean without hesitation.

"We're now the mouse."

"This has gotta be a first. Usually we"re the ones doing the hunting not the other way around. That doctor he didn't give you any clues, any ideas about who it could be?"

"If he knew he wasn't saying." Sam's earlier frustration and anger at the doctor's careless attitude still lingered and his next words came out a little harsher than he had intended as the anger bubbled to the surface. "Basically he didn't give a damn about her. I pretty much got the impression he thought he had better things to do that worry about one of his patients being arrested for murder."

Dean gave a droll smile. "So the guy's a dick."

Sam gave a half smile back as the anger he felt vanish in a flash at his brother's simple but truthful summoning up of the guy. "Pretty much."

"Well all I can say is that we better hope that Bobby comes up with something."

**SN*SN*SN**


	9. Chapter 9

"She's a hunter." At the disbelief on Sam and Dean's faces Bobby glanced between the brothers. "What? You think all hunter's are like you two?"

"A hunter?" said Sam, his surprise at Bobby's assessment of Jane fading a little, though he still found it hard to reconcile the idea of the traumatized woman who was sitting on the bed with the reality of hunting, "Are you sure?"

Bobby stared over Jane, seeing what everyone else did. A slim, pale woman battered and scarred and carrying around a world of hurt. Yet beyond this he sensed there was much more to her. It was there in her posture, in the tilt of her head, in the readiness he could detect in her body that told him that though her concentration appeared absorbed in the game she was playing, her own instincts were on alert and aware of everything that was going on around her.

Bobby pulled his gaze away. "Pretty sure, yeah."

Every instinct, every rational thought that Dean had, knew that what Bobby had said was true but he didn't want to believe it, refused to believe it and it was this denial that caused the following words to come from his mouth. "Have you seen her? The chick's a candidate for One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest."

"Like you're so sane," said Bobby, the gruffness in his voice taking on a sarcastic edge, "Have you forgotten what it is that we do? Christ most hunters I know either end up dead or in the nut house. And those that don't, get through the day by living on a diet of Jim, Jack and Jose and God knows what else. In case you haven't noticed this kinda life ain't normal. You'd have to be a little nuts to do what we do." His outburst over Bobby's tone softened a little. "Anyway I would have thought you two knuckleheads would've figured it out by now. You said it yourself, she has nightmares doesn't she?"

"Yeah..."

Dean and Sam replied simultaneously, their voices low and questioning.

"And she drinks enough whiskey to put most people into a coma? That sound like anyone we know?"

Sam gave a barely there glance at Dean before he focused on Bobby. "Pretty much every hunter but that doesn't mean..."

"Look she could have ran but she didn't. How many people stay behind and fight the thing that's doing some major re-decorating on someone right in front of them. When people are scared they either freeze to the spot and get their innards splayed across the walls or they run like hell. They don't turn around and try to fight of the damn thing with a butter knife."

"But a hunter? Really Bobby?" said Dean, his skepticism remaining on his face.

"I never said it wasn't messed up."

Dean took a deep breath as he realized that he could argue and deny it all he liked but it wasn't going to change the truth; Jane was a hunter and the sooner he accepted the truth of that the better. "Okay, so she's a hunter. How the hell does that help us?"

"It helps us because somewhere in that head of her's she knows what killed that girl. We just need to find out what."

**SN*SN*SN**

Jane heard the man called Bobby speak, his manner and voice gruff like sandpaper running over a piece wood. She also heard the affection that was masked within its tones and knew that Dean and Sam were important to him. The affection, she thought, was returned along with respect.

A father?

No. There was no resemblance, no shared mannerisms or a way of speaking that spoke of kinship.

An uncle perhaps? Or a close family friend? Someone who had helped raised them?

Yes, that made more sense. A bond like father and child and yet not. A relationship built where friendship and trust had to be earned and not expected just because you were blood.

" _She's a hunter."_

Hearing that word Jane felt a hammering in her head at the mention of it, a hint of panic that she tried to suppress.

There was no way she could be what he said. It wasn't possible. That person was brave and fearless.

Her?

She was afraid most of the time. Not of the shadows and the dark like most people. No, that was the easy part. That world she could at least cope with. No what she was afraid of was what was hidden in the daylight, in the faces that looked human but were not.

She knew what was out there. Knew that they were out there.

Always watching. Always listening. Always waiting.

It was why she did her best to hide. If she hid, then maybe, just maybe, they would never find her.

" _She has nightmares doesn't she?"_

Oh yes, she had nightmares alright. Terrible, terrible nightmares.

Images she didn't want came to her in her sleep. Images of blood and death and faces that she knew but could not remember. Faces that were tormented with pain. Faces that called her name. Screaming.

If these were her memories she didn't want them.

" _And she drinks enough whiskey to put a person into a coma?"_

She knew that she drank a lot. Knew that most people didn't need a drink to help them fall asleep. Knew that they didn't need to drink just to get through the day.

Some days were better than others and some days were a lot, lot worst and some days she didn't care which was which.

She only knew that between the pills and the bourbon she was able to keep the nightmares away. That the drink helped her to feel just a little bit like a normal person.

And normal is the thing she wants the most.

" _But hunter? Really Bobby?"_

She heard the skepticism in Dean's voice and couldn't blame him for it. She doubted it also.

She couldn't be that. Couldn't be the person they kept saying she was. That wasn't her. She didn't want it to be her.

And yet she could not deny that she recognized that word. It flickered there in the back of her memory. A memory long forgotten, buried amongst all the fear and confusion.

She knew that word, knew the true meaning of it and all the implications that went with it.

A hunter fought monsters. Fought against all the terrible things that haunted her nightmares. Fought against all the things that people said didn't exist, even though they did. And she knew that as much as she wanted to deny it, as much as she wanted to run away and pretend that she had never heard that word, that that word applied to her. She was what they said she was.

_"She's a hunter."_

**SN*SN*SN**


	10. Chapter 10

With her head tilted downwards Jane looked sideways through the veil of her hair that swept over her eyes, peering through the strands to the three men who stood in the middle of the room. The man named Bobby picked up a dining table chair and with a quick flex of his arm spun it around so that it faced outwards, moving it a few feet closer towards her in the process. From the sidelines the brothers watched silently. Dean, bow legged, his stance and face stiff and still, hiding his emotions underneath; Sam the more relaxed of the two, his face showing both his concern and curiosity.

The black, red and white of the cards blurred in her vision as she tried to calm the hammering in her chest as the tension and fear began to creep its way to the surface, trying to push its way through the control she was desperately holding on to even as she began to feel it slip from her grasp.

Reaching out for one of the cards her hand gave the barest hint of a tremble. She curled her fingers inwards in an effort to keep this sign of her fear... of her weakness at bay.

Refusing to let the man named Bobby unnerve her further she straightened her fingers out at the last second and picked up the black five, pausing as she pretended for a moment that she was considering her options and carefully placed it on the red six. Satisfied she turned herself towards the room, unfurling her bent leg as she did so. Placing both feet firmly on the floor she sat facing Bobby, her hands resting on her thighs, her gaze focused squarely on the three men, her manner resolute.

Bobby knew what she was doing and admired her for it. She had guts which only confirmed his belief that she was a hunter. Damaged and confused yes but still with a hunter's instincts and determination. Controlling fear was never an easy thing to do and he felt kind of bad that he was about to try and punch a hole right through it but he also knew that it was the only way. She'd either fight or flee. Either way they would know one way or another how much of being a hunter was still a part of her.

"Jane, this is Bobby. He's a friend. He's here to help."

Jane's only indication that she had heard Sam was to glance between him and Bobby, her face a calm mask.

Just as Bobby had studied her she was studying him. She saw a flannel shirt, hanging unbutton over a t-shirt, a faded cap, its brim a dark green, whiskers, brownish red with flecks of grey, and eyes, patient and determined, though the bags underneath hinted at sleepless nights. It was his hands though that drew her attention the most. Callous fingers that spoke of a lifetime flicking through pages of old and dusty books. A layer of grime embedded in the skin and underneath nails that hold her that this was a man who worked with grease and oil that no amount of scrubbing could wash away clean. Faint scars here and there, a proclamation of the battles he had fought, an ode to all the lives he had saved and lost too.

"Maybe we should just skip the pleasantries and get right to it," said Bobby, crossing his arms, "What do you remember about what happened at the diner that night?

"I don't..."

The words died in her mouth, frozen by the fear that had been mounting since the older man's arrival and she shook her head no in reply.

Bobby wasn't surprised by her reaction but he was determined that she needed to try to remember. Lives depended on it. Now was not the time to be gentle.

"You must remember something. You were there. You saw something. The same something that attacked and killed your friend."

"No, no ..."

Bobby ignored her reply and carried on as if she had said nothing, hoping that he might shock her into remembering. "What was it? A vampire? A ghost? A demon? Maybe a skin walker?"

As the words came thick and fast Dean and Sam shared a brief and quiet look of communication, both wondering the same thing.

_What was Bobby up to?_

Bobby could hear the unspoken question as clear as if it had been spoken out aloud and appreciated the fact that the boys had said nothing. It didn't take much imagination to figure out how hard it was for them to remain silent in the background, putting their faith and trust in the single thought that he knew best. From Bobby's perspective he was glad of the silence as it meant that he could give his sole attention on the woman sitting across from him instead of being distracted by pointless questions. He needed to see her reactions, to judge for himself how much remained of the person she had once been.

Hearing each of those words Jane's eyes widen a little and her fingers curled ever so slightly, tightening the grip she had on her legs as she fought against the traitorous inner voice that told her that those monsters were real.

"You're lying. Those creatures they're not real, they don't exist."

Bobby saw her stubborn stare but he was just as stubborn. Sitting down he looked her calmly in the eyes, his manner unflinching. "Their real alright. Sam, Dean, Me. We hunt them. It's what we do. It's what you use to do..."

"No!"

Jane bolted upright, standing up as the word flew from her mouth with force.

Bobby stood up fast, pushing the chair back with such sudden force that it fell backwards, hitting the floor with a thud as Sam moved also, taking a step towards her, wanting to ease the situation but Dean interceded before him, saying her name as he too took a step towards her.

"Jane."

Jane's eyes latched on to Dean's at the sound of her name coming from his lips.

"Don't do this. Please."

The words, desperate and imploring tugged hard at the emotions Dean kept buried deep and the connection he felt with her pain made him give pause. "You sure about this Bobby?" he asked, expressing his doubts as to whether pushing Jane this way was the right thing to do.

"She needs to remember." Bobby hated saying those words, knowing how harsh they sounded.

"Bobby..."

"Sam, I know what you're gonna to say but this needs to be done. She's the only one who got a look at the thing. And until we know what it is and can hunt it, it's out there just waiting for the next meal to come along. Do you wanna be responsible for that?" The silence that followed was all the answer Bobby needed. "I didn't think so."

Sam knew that Bobby was right but he wasn't yet willing to give up on finding another solution. "There must be another way. Something else we can do?"

Bobby gave a quiet sigh, relenting a little as he saw the silent entreaty in Sam's eyes. "Okay. It may not work but we'll try something else."

Picking up the green canvas weapons bag that was sitting on the floor by the dining table Bobby opened it up and began to pull objects out. An emf meter was the first item out; a strange looking device that looked like some of souped up radio with its row of red lights along the top. A wooden cross was next, followed by a silver flask with a cross embossed on the front. As each item was laid out on the table Bobby tried to gauge her reaction.

An unnatural stillness seemed to hold her in its grasped as she stood there, eyes fixed on the table and the items there.

A handful of salt cartridges tumbled onto the table as they were dropped from Bobby's grasp, making a faint clunking sound as they hit the surface. As a handgun followed Jane's eyes widened a little in surprise as it was carefully placed down. With slight hesitation she reached her hand out, the tip of her fingers gently tracing the surface of the grip before she pulled her hand abruptly away.

"You recognize any of this stuff? Any of it seem familiar?" asked Bobby as he saw her reaction to the gun.

Jane shook her head frantically, her eyes flashing with panic and fear.

Glancing at the boys with a look that told them that he thought this was achieving nothing, Bobby carried on.

He pulled out a knife, banishing it out in front.

The instant flash of silver caused Jane's eyes to widen in alarm and the second her brain registered what it was that Bobby was holding she stumbled hurriedly backwards, the backs of her legs hitting the bed with a muffled thud. The impact sent her falling backwards so that she sat abruptly down, her hands gripping the edge of the bed, raw terror on her face, her mind lost in the past.

_A slim but masculine arm with dark brown shirt sleeves rolled half way up. A hand with long elegant fingers wrapped around a wooden handle of a knife, an intricate design carved into it, the blade long with just the slightest of curves along the edge near the point. A man's face, angular and slightly boyish with dark eyes and dark hair, stubble along his jaw, a ghost of a smile upon his lips._

_The same knife, this time being held in a woman's hand, while the long elegant fingers of the hand that had held it before were wrapped over the top of her hand, guiding her as she tried to throw it._

_The sensation of heat flooded through Jane's body as the man's body pressed up hard against her, feeling the warmth coming from him as he stood behind her showing her how to use the knife. Other sensations followed; the gentle heat of the sun's rays upon her head, the soft feeling of her hair tickling the side of her face as a breeze caused her hair to flutter, hands strong and gentle that held her, one wrapped over hers the other resting against the curve of her waist, the heat and feel of it burning through the clothing she worn.._

In a flash the images were replaced by others, the scene changing...

_Snow covered ground. The fresh cool air tingling against her skin, a faint smell slowly filling her nostrils. One of blood and flesh and death._

_Cold now, bitter and stinging wrapping itself around her body, making her teeth chatter, like the sound of a typewriter typing furiously away._

_Droplets of red upon snow covered ground, slowly running thicker and fanning out.  
_

_A silver blade, long and thin and shining brightly against a glare of white light._

_A pale hand gripping firmly the smooth handle of the silver blade, a hand of strength and will, an edge of menace to it._

_A figure moving, a blur of black against her vision which seemed dimmer, a shape of a cloak and a man within it.  
_

_The silver blade flashing and glinting as it moved._

_A gush of red splattering across her vision, drowning her sight away, leaving only the sensation of cold and pain, a pain that seared through her body agonizing slow._

_A cry of pain followed by another and another, layer upon layer until the air was thick with screams..._

The cry cut through the quiet of the room, startling the three men out of their mute observations with the desperation and pain that they heard in that one sound. More cries quickly followed, words jumbled up in hysteria as the barrier to all the fear came tumbling down.

In two long strides Sam was by the bed trying to calm the frightened woman as she wrapped her arms around herself, rocking backwards and forwards as she did so, her eyes wide and unseeing, as fragments of memories and emotions stumbled through.

"Jane. Jane. Shh, shh. It's all right. No ones gonna to hurt you. I promise."

 _S_ am looked over at Bobby his face mutinous .

"Don't look at me like that boy. Hell was I suppose to know she'll react like that. Do I look like a Goddamn mind reader to you."

His outburst over Bobby gave Jane a brief look of compassion, feeling regret that his actions had led to this. "Anyway you look at it, it had to be done. At least now we know."

Sam carried on glaring at Bobby as he ran his hand through his hair, his voice rising in volume, completely at a lost as to why Bobby had done what he had done, his anger and frustration spilling out from the control he was trying to muster.

"It's a knife Bobby. How'd think she was going to react. Look at her, she's terrified!"

"You think I can't see that. You think this is what I wanted..."

"I don't know what to think..."

"Sam!"

Holding up his hand telling Sam to stop before he said anything further Dean's voice, low and gruff halted the argument that was brewing. With the attention of the two of them now on him he carried on, directing his comments to Bobby. "What do we know? You said now we know. So what is it that we now know?"

Bobby sighed as he collected his thoughts. "We know that she remembers."

Dean gave Bobby a bemused look. "Remembers?"

"Yeah, remembers. Her brain might be a plate of scrambled eggs at the moment but her memories, at least some of them, are still there. We also know that she was a hunter. Best guess is a hunt went bad..."

As usual the sarcastic edge in Dean's voice hid nothing as he cut Bobby off in mid-reply. "You think Bobby. The fact that she's acting like girl interrupted over there is a pretty good sign that something went haywire."

"Look you can bellyache all you want but yelling at me right now ain't helping and it's sure not helping her. So unless you're gonna call the lynch mob why don't we try and figure this out."

Standing next to the bed Sam laid his hand on Jane's shoulder giving it a gentle squeeze as he looked down at her with concern. "Jane, you okay?"

The naked terror that had been mirrored in Jane's eyes slowly faded though her breathing was still labored as she gasped in panic breaths. Unable to speak she nodded yes in a furious manner, her mind still grappling with the force of the memories that had attacked her as her hands clutched the edge of the bed.

"Well I could use a drink," said Dean, taking a flask of whiskey out of the bag and pouring a shot. Seeing the startlingly paleness on Jane's face he went to her holding out the glass, "Here, you look like you could do with this."

Blinking a few times, the terror receding further back Jane looked mutely up at Dean, her expression one of stun shock. Finally seeing the glass he held out she took it with a trembling hand and quickly wrapped her other hand around it in an attempt to steady the shaking. For a moment she sat still, the glass clasped in both her hands as she stared vacantly ahead. As her brain caught up with the feel of the glass in her hands, she looked down at it before she tossed it back, swallowing the amber liquid in one go.

Going back to the table Dean poured a shot for himself and Bobby while Sam kept his hand firmly on Jane's shoulder, hoping his touch would reassure her as he felt the trembling in her body subside

"Well that went well," said Dean as he looked over at Bobby, before downing his drink.

"Yeah.. well... I'm sorry, okay," said Bobby. Swallowing a mouthful of whiskey he turned to Jane. "I didn't mean to frighten you like that. Or us for that matter. But I gotta be honest with you the only way we're going to find out what killed that girl is for you to remember that night."

"Bobby..."

This time it was Dean's voice that cut through, his tone low and gravelly, a faint warning in its undertone.

Bobby heard the defensive veiled threat in Dean's tone and looked over at him, his voice weary as he spoke. "Look I don't like it any better than you but if we keep tip toeing around we could be here all night and in the meantime whatever is hunting out there is still there and we have no idea who it'll go after next. Jane's a hunter... or at least she was... and I get that something terrible happened to her but she's pretty much the only led we've got. She either knows what it is or she doesn't."

As Bobby talked Jane got a another flash of memory, this time of Amy lying in a pool of blood and figure standing next to her. She looked up from the glass she had been staring into, speaking softly three words that named what she had seen. The knowledge coming to her though she didn't know how she knew, only that the words she was about to say were true.

"It's a harpy."

**SN*SN*SN**


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

_Harpy_

The shock on Bobby's face was unmistakable and that one word echoed in his head as he struggled with the implications of what Jane had just said, even as a very small part of himself hoped that it wasn't true. "Excuse me?"

"A harpy. What... killed Amy. It was a harpy."

Now that Jane had found her voice again each word came out a little stronger, her growing confidence as she spoke obvious to everyone in the room. Still Bobby had to ask one more time, despite his gut telling him it was an idjit thing to do. He had to be sure. _Needed_ to be completely and one hundred percent positive that this was what they were up against because if they were, trouble didn't begin to describe how royally screwed they all were.

"You sure?"

"Yes."

Her answer came out determined and sure, leaving no room for doubt, causing Bobby to give a big sigh as he let a breath out upon hearing this confirmation, his lips pursing in a hard line. "Balls!"

Witnessing the exchange Sam looked at his brother, raising an eyebrow in an attempt to get Dean to ask the question he knew they were both thinking.

Dean caught Sam's look and replied back at him with a look of his own, a look that said _Yeah, I've got this._ "Bobby. You care to let us in on what's going on?"

"Harpies." Bobby's tone was laced with disgust, his stomach churning at the thought of one of those creatures being here in this town.

"O-kay. Well that's about as clear as – mud. Do you think you can elaborate further? Or do I have to start sending up smoke signals?"

His face still grim Bobby picked up his empty glass and reached across the table for the bottle of whiskey. "I need a drink."

A further questioning look passed between the brothers, both of them more than a little surprised as to how Bobby was handling this. Bobby was... well Bobby. He was the one who had the answers, who was always in control, especially when it involved a hunt. As far as they knew there was pretty much nothing Bobby couldn't handle so to see him on edge like this was just a little unnerving. Something had gotten under skin and whatever it was, it wasn't good.

Sam was the first to collect himself, putting aside the anxiety he felt at the way Bobby was acting, concentrating instead on the brief conversation that had transpired and Jane's announcement of what they were hunting. "Harpy? That's out of Greek mythology?"

Bobby paused, the drink of whiskey in his hand hovering just a few inches away from his lips. "It ain't no myth." He tossed back the glass, quickly swallowing its contents.

"You've come up against one before?" This time it was Dean who spoke first, voicing the question.

"Yeah. And it ain't an experience I wish to repeat. Vicious blood thirsty suckers. You don't wanna mess with one of these. They'll rip your heart right out from your chest and do it with a smile."

"Well don't they just sound peachy." The sarcasm dripped from Dean's voice in annoyance. "So how do we kill it?"

"You don't," said Jane, her softly spoken words abruptly halting the men's conversation.

**SN*SN*SN**

Jane's words lingered in the air, oppressive in their meaning, as her and Bobby exchanged looks while Dean and Sam looked on in surprise.

Placing his empty glass down on the table Bobby finally spoke. "She's right." The brothers surprised looks now switched from Jane to Bobby, but before they could give voice to it Bobby carried on. "You don't kill these things without a damn good plan. They think like we do, work like we do."

Comprehension flickered across Sam's face as he took in Bobby's words, realization hitting him as to what it implied. "Their hunters."

Bobby heard the mixture of query and surprise in Sam's voice and gave a small nod. "The ultimate hunter. At least that's what some say. Personally I just think they're psycho sonsofbitches. Either way it's going to be hard to find. They're good at blending in. _Really_ good. Finding the damn thing is going to be a mission from God, let alone killing it."

Sam knew what this meant but couldn't understand why it would make this hunt anymore difficult than others; going up against monsters that looked anything but was pretty much part of their standard repartee. "It looks human."

"Yeah, only it ain't, not underneath anyway."

With the surprise of Jane's words and Bobby's attitude fading Dean finished off the remains of his whiskey. "That's just great. It could be anyone."

Bobby heard the stain of annoyance in Dean's voice and chose to ignore it. Living on too little sleep and too much booze had a tendency to roughen the edges; not that anyone could blame Dean for it, where he had been it was a miracle he was still half sane so a little roughness was nothing that couldn't be ignored.

"Generally their female so that cuts about half the population out," said Bobby giving Dean a half hearted apologetic look, though inside he was just as worried about this fact as the boys were, more so in fact because he knew exactly what they were up against and how hard it was going to be to hunt and kill it. He had the feeling though that this was the least of their concerns because the one thing past experience had taught him was that the Harpy was most likely onto them and if it was, then they weren't going to be the ones doing the hunting, the Harpy would be hunting them.

"And leaves us with the other half," fired back Dean, once again stating the obvious as the three men exchanged grim looks.

**SN*SN*SN**

With the weight of everything that had been said still ringing in his ears Sam knew that what he was about to do went against everything he had been doing up until this moment but he now realized what Bobby had meant, she was the only real led they had. Bringing one of the dining chairs closer to her he sat down, leaning forward with his legs slightly apart as he rested his arms upon them, his face sober.

"Jane?"

Hearing her name Jane wanted to ignore Sam but knew that to do so was futile, it would accomplish nothing; there was no where else to run, no where else to hide, not anymore, that's if there ever had been in the first place. With a weary reluctance she looked up, pulling her gaze from the bottom legs of Dean's jeans, knowing she could no longer lose herself in the faded blue denim of it.

At her hesitancy Sam gave her a tender smile, wanting to soften the blow before he went in, hating himself for doing this. "The Harpy. What do you remember from the other night?"

Jane bit down on her lower lip trying to fight back the fleeting feelings of fear and panic that threatened to come surging forward. It worked; the sensation of pain stopping the fear from taking over her emotions. Visibly swallowing now that she had control she tried to focus on what had happened that night, bits and pieces of images flashing in her memory. "There was... there was blood. Lots and lots of blood. And I... I tried... but I couldn't..."

"But you saw it?" Sam kept his eyes on her, his question cutting through the barely veiled panic, trying his best to keep her focused.

Jane nodded. The panic was still there but she was holding on, fighting back against it with every bit of will she had. "It was..." Another flash of memory, then another and another. Some that stayed longer, others that came and went almost too quickly. "It looked... human, but it wasn't. It's hands. They were all wrong. Like talons on a bird. And there was this..."

She paused as if she was struggling to reach out and grab hold of one of the images and make it a tangible thing and she was there again, standing in the diner, a bloody knife in her hand, blood all around when the elusive thing that had been nagging at the back of her mind hit her. "... smell."

"Smell?" Sam gave a quick glance over to Bobby, who shrugged in reply, letting Sam know that he had no idea what this was. "What kind of smell?"

"It was sweet... like honey but mixed in with something else."

"What else do you remember?"

Jane paused again and in that pause her certainty began to waver, a tiny spark of doubt worming it's way into her mind as she was faced with the scrutiny of the three men who waited for her response. Her memories were such a mess, could she really trust them? Should she trust them?

"I..."

Her voice failed her as the doubt grew and the memories came flooding in through all the empty spaces that had been left behind. Panicked with the almost overwhelming wave of fragmented memories that assaulted her Jane abruptly stood up. The onslaught of images too much to bear. Images of blood and Amy's dead body mingling with other memories, memories of men being tortured and slowly killed, their cries ringing in her ears. Words rushed out of her mouth, her hands fidgeting in a restless state, unable to keep still. "I... I can't do this. I'm… I'm sorry but... but I can't. It's too... too... I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

With the desire to run now her main thought Jane headed to the door, the simmering agitation now boiling over into a restlessness that she could no longer control.

At her distress Sam tried to stop her, standing up to call her name. "Jane!" But the sound of her name had no affect and the door slammed loudly after her leaving the three men to look on in concern.

"Dammit!"

The curse broke free from Sam as he went to follow her, only stopping when Dean interceded, snatching the flask of whiskey from the table and giving his brother a steady stare. "I'll go."

**SN*SN*SN**

Outside Jane was startled by the bright afternoon light and squinted her eyes, trying to keep out the glare as she ducked her head, her shoulders sagging as if the weight of the sun was pressing down on them instead of the weight of her past. Uncomfortable in the daylight Jane hunched over, her whole body drawing itself inwards as she tried to make herself as small as possible.

The surprise of finding that it was daylight outside helped to push some of the panic back, though the agitation was still there, rippling inside, pacing like a tiger. She walked hurriedly along, her hands digging themselves further deeper into the pockets of Sam's jacket, the solid and steady pounding of her footsteps the only thing that mattered, each step telling her that she was getting further away.

She had no idea where she was headed and no longer cared, the tears threatening to spill down her cheeks as her strides got quicker and quicker. If the Harpy saw her now then so be it. It could all be over. She would be free of the memories. Free of the pain. Free of all the things that haunted her.

She stopped, standing still on the tarmac, closing her eyes, keeping the tears at bay. Crying would solve nothing.

It was a sign of weakness. A sign of cowardice. And she was not a coward.

All she wanted was a quiet life.

No hunting. No monsters. No... memories.

The sound of heavy footsteps came from behind her but she didn't turn round. Instead the smell of gunpowder and whiskey and leather floated through the air.

_Dean._

As his shadow fell across the footpath joining hers, Jane heard him move and his arm appeared in front of her, the flask of whiskey gripped tightly in his hand as he held it out to her.

Neither said anything as the flask passed between them.

**SN*SN*SN**

"It happens."

Sam stopped in mid motion, the pile of papers clutched in his hand as heard Bobby speak.

Seeing that he now had Sam's attention, the words flowed easily. "Some hunters. They lose it. And they don't come back."

Sam swept his hand across the table, pulling more papers together in a jumbled mass, his own agitation just as obvious as Jane's had been. He knew Bobby was right but that didn't make it any easier. "I know. Its just... She's my age, maybe younger. Is that what's gonna happen to me? To Dean?"

Bobby's eyes narrowed a little in slight disbelief as he took in Sam's words. "Is that what you think?"

"I don't know. Maybe. You saw how she is. Her hands, they were shaking." Somehow that image disturbed Sam the most.

Bobby on the other hand had no problem with how Jane was acting. "Yeah. So?"

"She's a hunter. Hunters don't get..."

Bobby jumped in as Sam's voice faltered., blunt and to the point as was his way. "Don't get what? Don't get scared? Don't get afraid? You think we're better than everyone else?"

"No! I've never thought that. Its just that... seeing her like this... someone who was a hunter. It..."

"... makes it more real," interrupted Bobby.

Sam nodded. "Yeah. Dean's just like her. He has nightmares and he's drinking..." He paused for a second as he saw the look on Bobby's face at this last part. "... more. I know he's keeping something from me. I think he remembers Hell but he won't talk to me about it."

"What did you expect? That he'd wanna hold hands and cry like a girl and everything would be alright? This is your brother we're talking about. He's more closed off than North Korea. All we need to do is to help him pick up the pieces when he does crack. You can't keep worrying about him, you'll only drive yourself nuts."

Sam gave a small faintly amused smile at the irony of this last part, knowing deep down that Bobby was right, it was just hard to see his brother like this. "Cute."

Bobby smiled, giving a shrug of his shoulder.

With the tension in the room easing Sam concentrated his thoughts back on to the hunt. "Okay. So what are we going to do about this Harpy? You've hunted one before, how are we going to find it if it's so smart."

Bobby's face instantly went serious at this reminder of what they were up against and he took a moment to answer as an idea came to him. "We need to set a trap."

****SN*SN*S **N**** **

Through the window of the motel's office Noah Larson watched, his hand picking up the phone and dialing a number, while his eyes remained glued on the two people he could see in the distance. He didn't understand why they didn't just up and have the girl arrested; she's was just plain crazy and that was all there was to it but he wasn't the type to ask questions, questions only got you answers that you really rather not know.

"It's Noah. That girl you wanna me to keep an eye out on. She's outside and lookin' mighty restless." He paused listening to the voice on the other end.

"Yep, one of them Marshall's are with her."

Noah nodded his head even though the person he was talking to couldn't see him, pulling the lace curtain a fraction as he peered through it.

"Looks like their just talkin'. Yeah I'll let know if they leave. Okay Sheriff, what ever you say."

**SN*SN*SN**


	12. Chapter 12

The stilted silence that followed as Dean and Jane returned to the motel room seemed to permeate the air, leaving everyone with an uncomfortable unease, though each tried to hide how they felt.

Jane, the fight now gone from her, had once again turned in on herself wearing her silence like a shield of armor, her shoulders hunched, hands buried in the long sleeves of Sam's jacket, clutching the cuffs of it in an effort to keep them still.

Sam and Bobby said nothing, unsure of the right words to say that would offer her any comfort from the pain and turmoil that she was suffering without them sounding like some kind of banal platitude. Instead they concentrated their efforts on coming up with a plan, a way to lure the Harpy out into the open. For the next two hours the three men worked, going over all the information that Sam had gleamed from the Sheriff and Doctor Lang, searching for anything that might be of help amongst the photos and documents that were spread out across the dining table as well as going through several websites finding any lore they could about Harpies. Every so often Sam would glance over at Jane who sat silent and still on the couch.

Finally the need for a break and an overwhelming desire for some coffee drove Sam to head out to the convenience store down the road. The fresh fall air hitting him immediately as he left, acting as a soothing balm to the thoughts that troubled him. Quickly getting into his stride he made his way in the direction of the store. Fifteen minutes later he was back with four coffees and a bag of chocolate chip cookies. Taking one of the coffees out of the cardboard tray he went over to Jane placing it on the coffee table in front of her. "I thought you might need this."

Without a word or a glance Jane reached for the coffee, her only indication that she had heard him, her face remaining impassive as she drank. Sam looked down at her with a worried expression before he turned away going back to Dean and Bobby. Taking one of the coffees for himself, he looked over at her again as he took a sip, the worried look back on his face.

"She'll be fine," said Dean, glancing up from one of the papers he held in his hand.

To anyone else the words might have sounded callous but Sam knew that Dean was speaking with a deeper understanding of what was going. Usually it was the other way around. He had always been the better of the two of them at reaching the scared and the freaked out. Not that Dean didn't have his moments but generally he was all words and action; emotions got in the way of the hunt, at least according to the rule book of John Winchester and Dean had always followed the rules. Lately though the rule book had been thrown out of the window and the emotional barrier that Dean wore wasn't quite as tough as it had once been. Hell and its aftermath had changed him, had changed them both.

Sam nodded in reply, knowing that his brother was right, as much as he was reluctant it to admit it. Pushing his concern for Jane aside Sam swept his eyes over everything that was laid out on the table. "So you think this'll work?"

"Unless you can come up with something better, it's all we've got," said Bobby, sounding more confident than he felt as he glanced between the boys. The brief silence that followed lasted only a moment as the brothers thought it quickly through before answering.

"I've got nothing," said Dean.

"Same here"

Satisfied that neither of the them were going to fight him on this, Bobby cast his own quick glance at Jane. "All right then. You boys pack up everything we'll need, I'm just gonna have a word with her over there."

Knowing that the boys were watching on with curiosity as he walked over to Jane, listening as they did so, Bobby leaned down, gently placing his hand on Jane's arm. His action got the response he had hoped for as Jane's eyes snapped upwards, locking on to his blue ones which held her's in a steadfast look. "We need to talk."

The sound of Bobby's voice, whispered its way towards the brothers and they carried watching on as Jane gave a small nod and stood up, walking behind Bobby as they moved to the opposite side of the room to talk quietly. Unable to hear what Bobby was saying to her Dean and Sam turned their attention back to what needed to be done.

"You okay with this?"

Dean gave Sam a slightly incredulous look. "For being bait for a blood thirsty psycho killer?"

"Yeah."

The word came out soft as the reality of what Dean was about to do sunk in, even though Sam knew Dean wouldn't have any other way. Putting their lives on the line was what they did, though it was hard to be the one who had to sit back and do nothing.

"Not a problem," said Dean, picking up his gun and tucking it into his jeans, behind the small of his back. "Just let the bitch get near me and I'll show her how we deal with monsters."

**SN*SN*SN**

Walking towards the Impala, the dark of the night encompassing the two men as they headed in its direction, Dean managed to count to ten before he gave voice to the question that had been nagging at him, resting his arm on the roof of the car, his eyes landing on Bobby.

"That Harpy you went up against. You wanna fill me in on what happened?"

Bobby paused as the meaning behind Dean's question sunk in, his face unreadable. "Like I said. It ain't an experience I wish to repeat."

Dean held Bobby's gaze for a moment longer. "Riiight," he said, drawing the word slowly out.

 _Okay, so_ _not i_ _n the mood for sharing,_ he thought, sliding into the driver's seat and slotting the key into the ignition, the faint rumble of the engine starting up along with the car radio.

No surprise there. Like most hunters Bobby was reluctant to talk about a hunt that had obviously gone wrong. Failure wasn't something that was easy for someone who did what they did to deal with, let alone admit to, especially as it usually meant that someone had probably gotten killed on a hunt and as Dean drove the Impala out of the motel parking lot, the words of the song playing on the radio filtering through, he couldn't help but wonder who it was that Bobby had gotten killed.

_"Maybe I'll find on the way down the line_   
_that I'm free, free to be me._   
_Black night is a long way from home."_

**SN*SN*SN**

The silence lingered in the air. Thick and heavy and uncomfortable.

Trying to shake the unease off Sam busied himself, picking up the pieces of paper and photographs that laid strewn across the dining table while casting the odd glance Jane's way as she paced around the room. Placing the last piece of paper on top of the single pile he had made he turned around, the words he had been going to say dying in his mouth as he faced her.

She stood with her back to him, her head bent down as her hands patted down her body, searching. Finally she found what she was looking for as she drew out the flask of whiskey that Dean had given her from the depths of Sam's jacket and twisted the cap off, bringing the flask up to her lips, swallowing back several gulps of the whiskey that was within. Finished she pulled the flask away, her hand dropping down to her side, the flask clasped tightly in her hand.

She went still.

And though Sam couldn't fully see her face, he could tell that her eyes were closed and that she was breathing slowly and deeply, all in an effort to calm herself. He tried to think of the right words to say that would ease the undercurrent of tension that still remained in the room.

 _As if a few simple words could make her feel any_ _better_. Realizing this he knew that there was only one thing that he could say to her. "I'm sorry."

Silence answered him and Sam wondered if she had heard him. Had they pushed her too hard? Had he pushed her too hard? So many thoughts whirled inside his head, mixing in with the guilt he felt.

"I know.

The sound of Jane's voice broke through, bringing him out of his thoughts at her reply and his heart ached at the weary acceptance that was buried in each word. "It'll be okay. Dean and Bobby. They'll find the Harpy and it'll all be over."

"It's never over."

She looked over at him then, her eyes locking on to his and anything else he might of said at the moment fled his brain and could only look on as she sat back down on the couch, staring off into the distance once again, her mind lost to the memories that plagued her.

Sam stood looking at her, deep thought. She was right. It was never over and that filled him with a deep sense of trepidation as he wondered what the future would bring. All he did know was that he was going to need every bit of strength and determination he had if they will going to stop Lilith from breaking the 66 seals.

Taking his own seat by the dining table, his eyes stayed on Jane, watching over her, sharing in her silence as a way of letting her know that she was not alone, knowing that keeping her safe was the one thing that he could do.

**SN*SN*SN**

Songs:

 _Black Night_ (performed by Deep Purple)


	13. Chapter 13

Driving in the direction of the bar from the other night Dean leaned over to turn the radio off, his gaze briefly drifting to the Impala's rear view mirror as he did so. Dark moss green eyes stared back out at him, red rimmed and blood shot. He looked tired and not just from the lack of sleep. Memories of Hell kept nudging forward, lurking around the edges of his consciousness, pushing through when he least expected it.

He didn't know what was worse. The nightmares that invaded his sleep or the flashes that would hit him in the day time. Either way, they were starting to affect him, physically and mentally and neither of those were a good thing. Alcohol at least helped, even if just a little, but drinking his way to oblivion wasn't the solution, not in the long term and not with everything that was happening. Sam was also bound to notice eventually, if he hadn't already, and _that_ was a conversation he wasn't willing to have, not now, not ever.

He blinked as the echoing sound of screams rang in his ears and gripped the steering wheel tighter, hands taut, white knuckles standing out against tanned skin. Thinking about Hell wasn't doing him any favors. He needed his head in the game and focused on the hunt, because if they didn't catch this thing soon then more people were going to die

He looked into the rear view mirror again, grateful that he could no longer see his reflection and stared at the gray tarmac of the road behind him.

That something was out there following them, hunting them was distinctly... unnerving. They were the ones who did the hunting, not the other way around and being bait wasn't exactly helping the situation. He had his doubts as to whether this plan would work but since it was the only plan they had his doubts didn't really matter. One way or another they needed to stop this thing and if keeping his doubts to himself was what it took, then he would do just that.

As for Jane well that was something else all together.

"What's going to happen to her when this is over?"

There was a brief moment of silence before Bobby replied. "The girl?"

"Yeah. I mean she's spent the past few years being treated like a crazy person when all she really was, was a hunter."

"Was being the operative word. She's one foot away from a padded cell."

Dean's eyebrows lifted up a little in surprise. "And Sam thought I was being harsh."

"Sam's an idealist. He likes to believe that everyone can be saved. She's white knuckling it. You know it. And I know it. And a hunter like that is dangerous."

Dean had no reply to that. He knew that Bobby was right. They knew of too many hunters who had loss their way, who had given up everything all in the name of a hunt. The past was littered with the trail of the lost and the broken. Dying for a cause was easy. It was living that was hard. Sometimes almost too hard.

But he couldn't say any of that. Not to Bobby. And not to Sam.

Especially not to Sam.

He couldn't lay that burden on him

Hell had taken its toll.

And though he didn't regret the choice that had sent him there, didn't regret trading his life for Sam's, would do it again in an instant, without hesitation, living with the consequences of that choice were a lot harder than he had ever imagined.

**SN*SN*SN**

Sam couldn't say how long he and Jane sat in their respective seats. Not talking, not moving, just staring. Him at her and her at the wall. He wanted to help her but he had no idea how to do so or even if he could. There was so much pain and anger and hurt inside her and all of it was tied up with a bow made of fear. One tug and it would all unravel. And unravel she would, of that he was certain. She was on the edge and the only thing holding her back was fear and whatever inner strength she still had. It was only a matter of time before neither would be enough.

The loud rap-rap-rap of knuckles banging against the front door broke through the silence causing Sam to quickly flick his head in its direction. No one knew they were here. And that alone was reason enough to be surprised at the sudden intrusion.

With a tilt of his head and a quirk of an eyebrow at Jane he silently conveyed all that he needed to and waited as she went and hid in the adjoining bathroom. Satisfied that she was safely out of sight Sam grabbed his gun and took up position by the front door, one arm bent behind him as his hand rested on the gun's grip, his other hand on the door's handle. Only as the rap-rap-rap sounded out again did he finally pull the door open.

**SN*SN*SN**

At the sight of the Deputy Sam eased his hold on the gun, fingers uncurling, no longer tense. With his hand now free he stretched out and rested it against the door frame.

"Deputy," he said, with a flick of a smile.

The Deputy, Dave if Sam remembered correctly, gave a curt nod in reply, his face unsmiling. "Marshal." He stepped forward, invading Sam's personal space, his body tight, his gaze hard and direct. It was a maneuver designed to intimidate someone; getting up close, challenging them. It might have worked on most people but Sam wasn't most people and he nearly smiled at the absurdity of it. Facing a deputy who was fueled with barely control anger was nothing compared to facing off against a demon. Once you had done that, there was wasn't much left that could intimidate you.

Sam leaned into the door frame just a little bit harder, his body relaxing into it as he smiled, warm and easy. He might not use it as often as his brother but he could still call upon the Winchester smile and charm when needed. "What can I do for you?"

The Deputy held his stance as he stared into the room beyond.

Sensing that he wasn't going to back down, Sam pulled away from the door, opening it further in invitation.

**SN*SN*SN**

Jane pressed her back hard against the bathroom wall, the palms of her hands braced upon its surface for support as she bent her legs, easing herself into a half crouch.

Resting her head against the wall she took calming breaths, trying to slow down the hammering sensation of her heartbeat as adrenalin began to kick in. The fight or flight response was a powerful one but Jane knew she needed to stay calm. Slowly breathing in and out she closed her eyes and listened to the voices in the other room as they seeped through the tiny gap she had left in the doorway.

 

**SN*SN*SN**

Walking into the room the Deputy stood in the middle of the room, his fingers tucked through the front belt loops of his uniform trousers, his back ram rod straight and looked around, surveying the room.

Sam stared at the back of the Deputy's head, letting the silence drag out as he patiently waited. Intimidation tactics were something he knew all too well. Growing up with men like John Winchester for a father and Dean for a brother; men who knew how to instil fear into others, Sam was familiar with the routine. He had tried it himself on occasion though at 6'4 he generally found that his height a lone was enough to intimidate most people. Smiling faintly Sam picked up a half drunken bottle of water off the table and took a swig.

"So Deputy. What can I do for you?"

Silence again.

For a second.

Then two.

Then three.

Only then did he turn around to face Sam.

"Actually Marshal it's what I can do for you that is far more important."

He smiled. A smug smile of arrogance, fake with warmth that didn't quite reach his eyes which were hard and cold as they stared at Sam before they flicked away towards the front door that had been left opened.

That tiny flicker was all Sam needed to know that something was very wrong.

Not hesitating for a second he spun around, his hand already bending behind him to grasp the gun that was still tucked into the back of jeans but it was all ready too late as he came face to face with a shot gun pointing directly at him and the man who was holding it as he stood in the doorway.

The man, dark eyed and grizzled bearded, took a step forward, the shot gun remaining fixed firmly on Sam. "I'd put that down if I were you Marshal. Don't want anything going off by accident now, do we?"

"You should listen to him. Unless you fancy having a hole in your chest where your heart's suppose to be," said the Deputy, unclasping a pair of handcuffs from his belt as he came closer to Sam.

Knowing it would be foolish to challenge them Sam carefully moved both his arms, raising his hands up in front of his body, palms facing outwards in a sign of compliance. "Look whatever it is that you think is going on, you're wrong. Arresting a Federal Marshal without good reason could get you in to a lot of trouble. I really think you should ring my boss."

"Your boss? Right."

The smile on the Deputy's face lingered for a moment then disappeared completely as a blank coldness replaced it and his hand curled into a fist which punched out hard and fast.

The sound of knuckles hitting the soft, fleshy part near the jaw bone sounded out throughout the room as the Deputy's fist connected with the side of Sam's face, the force of it making Sam's head snap sideward as he staggered backwards. Disoriented he was only dimly aware of the Deputy roughly grabbing him by the shoulder and forcing him on to the ground, his knee pushing into the middle of Sam's back as he quickly snapped the handcuffs in place.

"You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney and to have an attorney present during any questioning. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you at government expense."

The words washed over Sam as he lay on the floor, his bearings coming back as his head cleared. With his cheek pressed into the carpet he saw not one but two pairs of boots and realised that a third man had entered the room. Straining his neck so he could look upwards he saw that the third man was little more than a boy, perhaps 18 or 19 at best, slim built, plaid shirt and fresh faced.

The Deputy pressed harder into Sam's back, forcing him to remain down as he continued talking, pausing only for a moment before he spoke again. "Go and get the girl."

**SN*SN*SN**


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

Jane had always known that bad men would come for her.

Even as child she had known this and the fact that she can remember knowing that out of all the things that she can't remember told her something. She had been right to be afraid.

But fear wasn't going to help her now.

Because the bad men were finally here. And she needed to push the fear back to that deep, dark place inside of herself and fight. Because if she didn't then terrible things were going to happen. To her. And to Sam.

With a whispered breath she let go of her emotions as if they were pennies dropping to the floor and let instinct take over.

Pulling away from the wall, Sam's jacket slipped off her shoulder's. Feeling lighter and less constrained she looked around the bathroom, hunting for anything that could be used as a weapon. Her options, sadly, were limited. There were no knives or even anything sharp nor was there anything heavy with which she could hit someone with. All of this placed her at a disadvantage but she wasn't ready to give up.

Not yet.

Glancing further around her eyes latched on to a dark blue toiletries bag that was sitting next to the wash basin. It wasn't much but it was something and something was better than nothing. Not even hesitating she snatched it up and emptied it upside-down. The various items clanged out against the ceramic surface of the basin as they tumbled out but the sound meant nothing to her. The men were coming and whether she was silent or not no longer mattered. Time was what mattered. She didn't have much of it. The men would be here soon and when they finally came everything was going to go to hell.

Her hand shook, just for a second, as the fear tried to nudge its way through.

She blinked, concentrating her thoughts back on what she was doing. Her hand glanced over a bottle of Hugo Boss aftershave and she paused. Improvise. That's what she needed to do and the bottle of aftershave might just be the kind of improvision she could use. Having this thrown into your eyes should sting like hell. At least she hoped it would. Even better though were the nail clippers which shone up from the bottom of the basin as if they were the Holy Grail.

Finally something sharp that she can use.

Palming the aftershave in one hand and the clippers in the other, she turned around just as the door handle began to turn. It was all the signal she needed to know that time was up.

 _He's only a boy,_ she thought and then she struck out.

A spray of aftershave in his face, a lunge up with her other hand, connecting with his arm, the soft fleshy part at the top that gave way as the pointed end of the emery board sank in and a hard kick with her foot, right on the side of his knee. This last move was designed to bring a man down and it did just that, causing him to scream and howl in pain as he stumbled forward, falling to the ground as he knee gave out.

His cries went past her as she continued on, not pausing for a second as she rushed into the room. The Deputy though wasn't a stupid man, despite what some may have thought and the sight that greeted told her exactly how far he was prepared to go.

Sam.

On his knees.

Hands cuffed behind his back.

Head yanked back.

The barrel of a gun placed squarely against the temple of his head.

There were many different ways that this scenario could play out and none of them were good. Jane knew this and the Deputy knew that she knew this. His eyes upon her were steady and still. There was no doubt that he would not hesitate to pull the trigger.

"You know that I will do it. I'll pull this trigger and splatter pretty boy Marshall's brains all over this room before you could even take another step."

Jane shifted her gaze from the Deputy's cold eyes to Sam's warm ones. There was worry and a hint of panic in them but no fear. He wasn't afraid to die. But that didn't mean he wanted to die. This Jane knew. She wasn't afraid to die either but not wanting to die, well that was a lot more complicated. It was only recently that she had stopped wishing for death and instead focused on living. Sometimes though the temptation to just let go still creeps in.

But not today.

Today she would fight. For herself. And for Sam.

She looked back up at the Deputy and gave a tiny nod. A subtle acknowledgement that they understood each other.

"Drop what you're holding, kick it out and then get on your knees with your hands behind your head," said the Deputy, keeping his eyes on her while his gun remained firmly pressed against Sam's head.

Jane obeyed, following his instructions exactly as he had laid them out. Only when she was finally on her knees with her hands clasped behind her head did he ease the grip he had on Sam. With a nod at his other companion who was still holding the shotgun, the Deputy pulled away from Sam. In three strides he was in front of her and before she had time to react the gun in his hand was coming towards her. She felt the blow and then searing pain, a flash of light behind her eyes before everything went black.

**SN*SN*SN**

Bit by bit Jane slowly woke up and as consciousness became stronger so did the intense throbbing ache on the side of her head.

Pistol whipped.

She knew the term but had never experienced it. Until now. The continuous ache seemed to course through her whole body, making her reluctant to open her eyes let a lone move her head. But she knew she would eventually have to. Laying here, doing nothing wasn't going to help.

Hesitantly she opened her eyes, blinking and focusing as she gained her bearings. A ceiling, dark grey, the paint peeling in places, stared down at her. Turning as she propped herself up on one elbow a jolt of pain hit her and she dug her fingers in deep of the mattress that was underneath her, fighting back against the nausea that suddenly surged up. Breathing through her mouth as she swallowed, the nausea eased and passed and feeling a little better she looked around at the room she was in.

It was a prison cell. Grey walls, grey ceiling, grey bars.

The monotone colour didn't help her mood but it was a hell of a lot better than glaringly white or insipid shades of pastel. Because either of those would have meant the psych ward and that was the last place she wanted to be in. The outside world might have been scary but it was freedom. Freedom to run. Freedom to hide. And both of those things had kept her alive.

Gingerly she reached up and touched her head, her fingers meeting up with a damp stickiness. Blood. Not much. But enough. No wonder her head was throbbing so badly. Slowly running her hand through her hair she closed her eyes and breathed deeply, a long drawn out sigh escaping her lips. It wasn't good. Free from a psych ward she might be but she was still hurt and trapped. Trapped with nowhere to run.

And if she couldn't run, couldn't hide then the monsters would find her. Find her and do...

No. She wouldn't let that happen. Couldn't let that happen. Not after everything she had been through. And what about Sam? Where was he? She had no idea and that scared her even more because if the monsters killed him then it would all be her fault, just like...

No. Please no. Not again.

Panicked she abruptly stood up and felt the room sway under her feet. She paused, waiting for the dizziness to pass and then when it had, went over to the prison cell door. Wrapping both hands around the bars she gripped them tightly as she tried to shake them, screaming loudly as she did so.

"Let me out! Please! You have to let me out!"

Her voice came out strangled and hoarse, unuse to speaking. She tried again. Shaking the bars even harder, her knuckles turning white, her voice rising in volume as she pleaded for help. "Please! Let me out! I have to get out. I have to get out now! You don't know what's out there. Please! You have to let me out!"

**SN*SN*SN**


End file.
